Repercussions
by fuxfell
Summary: My first ever fanfiction, already posted at the Yahoo Group. Mainly post OC, Bishop centric. Bishop's sins during the OC catch up with him. Some liberties taken with the OC storyline. I don't own any of the companions, unfortunately.
1. Chapter 1 Prologue: Whatever it takes

This was originally planned as a stand-alone story. But it would not leave me alone after I wrote it, and so it ended up as prologue for a rather long story.

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Bishop settled his shoulders against the wall, shifting a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position. He'd been waiting for some time, hidden well in the shadows.

_Shouldn't be long now._

He closed his eyes, near useless in the dark anyway, and let his mind wander. How well he remembered the first time he'd seen her, strolling into the Sunken Flagon like she had always belonged there. She and her ragtag band of demons, dwarves, elves and whatever scum she managed to pick up on the roads. The memory nearly made him smile. It wasn't a happy smile. She picked him right up with all the other scum, much against his will. He'd been travelling with her for quite a while now. Ah well, sometimes roads took quite unexpected bends, he'd come to accept that a long time ago. It even had been fun sometimes, much to his own surprise. Who'd have thought?

Still, he remembered that first time, her eyes scanning the room and everyone in it, finally resting on him for a moment. He remembered meeting those pale, pale blue eyes, the colour of the sky on a frosty winter morning. That was when he dubbed her the ice queen. The title went well with her strange, short and tousled blue-white hair, those ice-blue eyes and the bronze skin that contrasted so much with the hair and the eyes, testament to her unusual heritage. The title also went well with her character, but that he only found out some time later.

Now the smile on his face was nearly genuine. She surely was something, even he had to admit that. She was not pretty, nothing cute about her. She was a warrior woman, no mistake about that, tall, strong, and very beautiful in her own, strange way. And her tongue often was as cutting as her sword. That was one of the things he liked about her.

He remembered her talking to that retard, Duncan, and then making her way through the room, getting acquainted with everyone. He shot her his best scowl, trying to discourage her upfront, but still she came to him, unfazed, and tried chatting him up. Looking for companions for that harebrained campaign of hers. He'd sent her packing, of course, with a few well-placed scathing words. What did he look like, a Samaritan? Or like he was into small talk? She had given him one of her icy stares – okay, maybe he had been a _tad_ rude, but what had she to go and bore him with her chatter for? – showed him a haughty shoulder and sauntered away.

He'd never have admitted it, not if his life depended on it, but somehow that stare had him hooked. There was something unusual about her, and not only her obscure parentage or that idiotic mission she was on. No, he had seen a strength in her he found impressive. That one knew how to fight, and would not go down easy. And he was not thinking about sword fights, either. No matter what you threw at her, she would fight and survive. He had to admire that.

And later, after that idiot Duncan had pressed him into her service, he remembered throwing innuendo at her at every opportunity. He just could not resist, he had to see if the ice would get cracks after a while. All it had gotten him were more icy stares and some equally icy replies. And of course a few drop-dead looks from the paladin. He had to choke back laughter, thinking about that.

_No making noises now, giving away __my hiding place. _

That had been real fun, goading the righteous fool into equally righteous fury, rushing to the defence of the ice maiden's virtue. The stupid git had been real eager to swallow every bait Bishop had thrown him. There had been a couple of occasions Bishop had nearly worn him down, had him ready to try and kill Bishop where he stood. The ice maiden hat stopped the fool every time, with a light touch on his arm and a few soothing words murmured into his ear. Pity, really. Bishop would have loved crossing swords with him, would have loved shutting that oh-so-righteous mouth for good. And that had _nothing_ to do with the twinge he felt, remembering the ice queen and the paladin exchange knowing glances and smiles...

_Stop that.__ No twinge._

He was past that now. Anyway, those two deserved each other. Blanket over their bed probably was frozen every morning...

He remembered finding himself watching her more and more. Admiring the grace she moved with. Admiring the deadly accuracy she cut her enemies down with. Admiring her strength, her iron will, her determination. And asking himself again and again if there was fire under all the ice. Finding himself wanting to find out. Hating himself for wanting to find out. Observing the paladin, courting her. Politely, of course. With propriety. The fool. Polite courtship would never get him to that fire underneath. Still, it had gotten Casavir smiles, long glances, small touches and words murmured into his ears. Even the memory made Bishop's fists clench.

He remembered himself, watching the ice bitch and the paladin grow closer. Feeling the fury in himself build up. This murderous fury, screaming at him to pounce the guy, and punch that smug expression from his face. Pounce him, get him down, and drive his face into the ground, until he stopped moving.

A sharp pain brought him back to reality. He had driven his nails into his palms, drawing blood, fighting the fury that was already rising again. He forced himself to relax against the wall. That was all in the past, now.

_How long? Where _were_ they?_

His mind wandered back to the last weeks spent in her company. Fighting the growing desire. Finally having to admit to himself that he wanted her. Badly. Hating himself for it. Not understanding. He liked his women small, slender, cute. Not frosty Valkyries from hell. But there was a time he could not lie to himself any longer. Could not deny the rage that rose like bile in his throat every time he saw her smiling at the paladin. Could not deny the way his breath caught when he met those blue eyes. Could not deny the way her deep, seductive voice made his spine tingle. Could not deny the heat that rushed up in him every time she was close. Could not deny the nearly uncontrollable urge to grab her, to draw her close, to...

_Stop. Stop. Stop._

So he'd decided he'd have her. Get it done, get over it, get on. Easy as pie. Well, relatively speaking, of course. Aside from the little problem she was with Casavir. And that she hated Bishop's guts. Might have been a bit his own fault, that last one. So he changed tactics. Behaved himself. Had been polite. Helpful. Constructive. He could be that way, if he really set his mind to it. All lies, sure, but he always had been a natural when it came down to lying.

Soon he got some interested glances as well. She'd noticed the difference. Had not commented on it, had been cautious, but gradually grew a bit less frosty towards him. Eventually getting nearly friendly. Had been a hard piece of work, that, getting her to open up a bit. Still, he could be charming, if he really tried. And he had tried. With nice results. The puppy dog eyes – he had already noticed that the ladies seemed to like his eyes quite a lot – and the sob stories he told her had not hurt either. And then...

The thought brought out a wolfish grin on his face, as his memories wandered back to that night he had "accidentally" met her in the small glade outside the city. No accidents involved, clearly, since she often went there after dark, to have some time on her own. He'd known exactly he would find her there.

Still, he had acted all surprised at meeting her, and she seemed to have bought it. He _was_ a good liar. And then he'd just done it. No sense in wasting any more time. He simply walked up to her, pushed her into the next tree, grabbed her hands and pressed her into the rough bark with his body. Luckily for him she had been quite surprised, otherwise he would not have her hands so securely pinned over her head by the time her reactions kicked in.

She had fought him like a cat, hissing and spitting into his face. Tried to knee him, too, but he had been waiting for that and easily avoided it. Her eyes had shot daggers at him, her face was flushed and her chest heaving, her mouth spewing profanities.

He had never wanted anything more in his life.

Her beauty made his blood boil and his pulse pound in his ears. He bent his head and pressed his mouth on hers, swallowing the insults she was hurling at him.

And that was the moment he really had lost it. Completely.

The feel of her lips under his made him forget everything, his mind blanked out and only the need remained. He moaned deep in his throat and kissed her like a drowning man. He did not even realise he had released her hands and started ripping off her clothes, until he felt her hands doing the same with his. He remembered letting himself fall backwards into the grass, taking her down with him, his mouth still on hers and she kissing him back like there was no tomorrow.

Here was the fire he had been so sure to find, nothing cold about her _then_. He remembered only flashes of what had happened after that, remembered her fingernails digging sharp into the skin on his back, leaving angry red welts. He remembered her strong body, bowing to meet his thrusts. He remembered her teeth in his shoulder. He remembered their mouths desperately seeking each other. He remembered her moans and cries, mingling with his own. Remembered her hot breath in his ear. And he remembered her shouting his name, shortly before he collapsed on her, totally spent. Did he shout her name? He was not sure. But he remembered the pure bliss he felt.

Until she got up and started frantically digging for what was left of her clothes. Put a bit of a damper on his euphoria, that. That, and the look of pure horror she shot him before she bolted into the night.

As he sat up, the bliss gave way to a sudden pain in his guts, like someone twisted a knife in there. And there was a sting in his eyes he angrily rubbed away. What the…? He did not do tears. And he never, ever felt hurt. He was the one hurting others, made damn sure that was the way everything turned out. He never left himself open, never. Anyway, it was done now, wasn't it? He'd had her, had melted the ice and made her cry out his name. Mission accomplished. Time to move on. Pastures new and all that.

The following days she did not talk to him, did not look at him and flinched every time he came near her. Sticking to the plan, he made no move to change that. He was over her now, right? Had gotten her out of his system. No sense in trying to impress her any more. So he kept to himself, barely talking to anyone, which was fine by him. They were all a bunch of retards anyway. He did not need them, did not need her, did not need anybody. Soon he would be gone, getting them out of his life at last. He could not wait for that time to come…

But somehow, his reserve seemed to sit well with her, even if that was the last thing he intended. After some days, he sometimes found her staring at him, when she thought no one would notice. Especially that stupid paladin. Well, the idiot would not have noticed if his own head left him. Every time Bishop caught her staring, she looked away swiftly.

But then she started seeking his proximity, started finding excuses for touching him. Small, seemingly innocent touches, a short touch on his arm, or her hand just barely grazing his. And she would not look away anymore, when his gaze met hers. An in her eyes, he could see something that ignited a fire in his body… something he could only describe as hunger.

If he had not been so busy swallowing the heat welling up in him, he would have smirked at her. Something the good and righteous paladin was not giving her, was there? He knew that fool did not have what it took. Could have told her, had she asked him. Did she realize herself, at last?

He remembered getting up, slowly, hesitatingly walking over to her, his gaze never leaving hers. He had stopped, a couple of feet away from her, still staring into her eyes. And there had been something new to see, he'd been so sure. A glow, a warmth, an… invitation?

Then she smiled at him, sweet and genuine, and he could feel something rising in his chest, something strange. What was that feeling? Was that… hope? It was warm, and fuzzy, and he could feel a stupid, broad, happy grin appearing on his face, and for a moment there, he really felt like maybe, just maybe, some things _could_ change in the end.

Gods, he must have been braindead.

Then, just as his hand lifted itself out of its own accord, wanting to touch her face, the paladin appeared behind her, shooting Bishop a withering glance, took her by the shoulders and whispered something into her ear. And she had glanced up at Casavir, smiled at him, too, gave Bishop a last look over her shoulder, and went away with the paladin.

Bishop just stood there, staring after her, that warm, fuzzy feeling gradually giving way to searing, hot rage. What had he been thinking? How could he have been so damn _stupid_? Letting his guard down like this? He'd sworn to himself never to let that happen again, never to feel that unbearable pain again. And here he was, feeling like his world just had caved in.

He turned on the spot, running into the woods, hurtling himself through the undergrowth, not feeling or caring the way the branches snapped his clothes and whipped into his face. At least the sting on his cheeks explained the water welling up in his eyes.

At last, panting and out of breath, he had to stop. He stood there, hands pressed to his stomach, feeling it clench with pain, threw back his head and screamed with incoherent rage. Screamed and screamed until his voice gave out. After, he let himself sink to the ground, lying down on his back and staring up into the leafy canopy of the trees and the glimpses of blue sky shimmering through.

It was then he knew he had to end this. Once and for all.

Stupid bitch had it coming, hadn't she? Should have known he was not one to play games with. Revenge would be sweet. He'd burned down his whole village for revenge, watched the people he grew up with die in the flames. After that, most things were easy.

As would be paying her back in kind for doing this to him. For getting under his defences so effortlessly. For making him vulnerable and then sticking a knife into his gut.

_We'll see about that, won't we_, he'd thought grimly. _I'll show you what it feels like_.

And he'd done it, betrayed her, left her keep open for invasion while he slipped away into the night. She'd survived, obviously – and here he was, waiting for her…

_Footfalls. At last._

He waited a bit longer, until he could hear their voices and see the light of their torches behind the bend.

_Took you a good while, getting here._

And then she appeared at the corner, her blue-white hair glinting in the torchlight. She really was beautiful. He felt his breath catch in his throat. Maybe…

_No. Stop. Never again._

He waited for her to take a few steps more, then she suddenly stopped and stared intently into the darkness ahead of her, obviously alarmed. He had to smile. She always _did_ have keen senses. He pushed himself away from the wall, stepping into the torchlight.

Oh, her face when she realized it was him.

"Bishop?" Unbelieving. Taking a step further to him, staring into his face. What was it he saw there? Relief? And… hope? "You came back?" A smile now, genuine smile.

She really was glad to see him, the stupid cow. He forced an answering smile on his face, taking the last few steps that separated him from her, stopping mere inches away. Looked into her eyes, still smiling, while he drove the dagger he'd been hiding so well into her gut, taking care that her body shielded the motion from the others coming round the bend.

_See what it feels like, bitch?_

She made a little choking noise, staggering and clutching the only thing there was to hold on to. Which were his shoulders. Her face now directly before his eyes, a rapid succession of emotions showed in those frosty eyes of hers. Surprise, disbelieve, shock – and eventually hurt, pain, betrayal… and something else. Was that hope?

Staring into his eyes, panting slightly from the pain, but not moving, not screaming, just staring at him, waiting. Waiting for what? For him to say something, to do something, to make it all right again?

Just showed how stupid she was, really.

Because nothing would ever make right again what he had just done. Which was exactly why he had done it, of course. No going back from this point.

_Whatever it __takes to set me free._

He stared into her face, so close to his, her lips parted in surprise, and could not help himself. He bent his head, pressing his lips on hers, kissing her desperately, as if it was the last thing he'd ever do. Which it was, actually, at least with her. Because soon, she would be dead.

Amazingly, he felt her responding, returning his kiss just as desperately, her eyes closed and a single tear rolling down her cheek. The dagger still in her belly, Bishop's hand still on the handle, she kissed him back.

_No. Nonononono. _

He tore his mouth from hers, his gaze falling on her companions, not one realizing what was happening in front of their eyes, seeing the paladin stare unbelieving at the ice queen, lying in Bishop's arms. Bishop gave him a short smirk.

_How do you like it, Buddy?_

Then he let his eyes fall on her face again, hope still very visible there. She whispered his name, so low even he could barely hear it.

Enough. He'd had his fun, time to move on.

He tightened his grip on the dagger, twisting it viciously in her gut and sliced her open with one fluid motion. Watched her eyes grow even larger, still no sound escaping her, while she sagged to the ground, bleeding freely now, still looking up at him. Shouts from her friends, who were starting to realize something was very, very wrong.

Time to take his leave.

He gave her one last glance, her face pallid now under the bronze hue of her skin. Oh yeah, he'd done her well. Then, he turned and ran into the tunnels ahead. He had taken his time exploring them, knowing every bend by now. They'd never catch up with him. Plus, they would take some time checking out the ice queen first.

He felt something stir in his chest, thinking of the look on her face, but clamped down hard on the feeling. No remorse, no looking back. Story of his life.

_Whatever it takes._


	2. Chapter 2 Prologue: Thrown to the Wolves

That was to be my second stand-alone - same story, but different POV, because I just had to explore that angle, too. Hope it's still interesting to read :)

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Chantal moved carefully through the dark corridors, her senses scanning ahead, trying to shut out the noises of her companions behind her, the muffled shuffling of feet and the small clanging sounds from Casavir's armour. She sighed involuntary. Sweet, caring Casavir. He had deserved better than the trick she played him. Not that she had intended to. How had it all happened?

_Yes, how?_

Her heart growing even more heavy, her thoughts went back to that moment so many weeks ago, when she first arrived at the Sunken Flagon, to meet Duncan and see what he could tell her about the shards. She had entered the inn, sizing up everyone in the room, trying to guess which one could be Duncan. It had not been so difficult to find out, really. There was only one Half-Elf in the room, so that had to be Daeghun's half-brother. Her "uncle" Duncan.

Thinking of him made a small smile appear on her face, despite the pain in her heart.

She had gone to talk to him, liking him instantly. Perhaps even because of the warnings Daeghun had given her that Duncan was not entirely to be trusted. Maybe it was a bit of spite in her, being thankful to Daeghun for taking her in and raising her, but not really being able to forgive him the cold and unemotional way he had done it.

Sometimes one of the villagers hinted that Daeghun had not always been that way, not before the death of his wife, somehow linked to the death of Chantal's own mother, but no one ever wanted to tell her _how_ that happened. But whatever had happened, if he decided to raise her, could he not do it with at least showing a _thread_ of affection? So if Daeghun told her not to trust Duncan, she had been determined to like the guy.

Luckily it was not difficult; Duncan had won her instantly by being appalled at his half-brother for not telling Chantal anything about her past. What had he said? _You would have been better off being raised by wolves…_ Chantal shook her head, still smiling.

Besides, Duncan was quick-witted, sharp-tongued and quite funny, so it had not been difficult to like him, even if he smelled like a beer keg.

After talking to Duncan and discussing how to go on from here, she had wandered through the room a bit, trying to get to know the people there. This was Duncan's home, and hers, for now. So the least she could do was be polite to Duncan's friends and customers, in thanks for taking her in. Plus, she _was_ a bard, and that was what bards did, talking to people. Well, at least she had been a bard until she had decided to pursue that _other_ part of her garbled heritage. She'd never seen her family tree, but she'd hold a fair wager it would be quite interesting to read.

Then she came up to the tall stranger she had seen shortly while searching for Duncan, standing in a shadowy corner and apparently talking to no one. He gave her a scowl and a dark look, daring her to try and talk to him. She had smiled a bit inwardly, sizing him up.

There was something sinister about him, something dark and forbidding. His very short reddish-brown hair stuck up every which way from his head, his badly shaven beard throwing a shadow on his jaw, but what was most noticeable about him were those strange eyes. He had amber eyes, which regarded her with a cold and contemptuous stare. They reminded her more of a wolf than of a human, and they showed as much emotion as well.

Actually, after she had met his pet wolf much later, she had to admit that the eyes of the wolf often showed more warmth than those of his master.

Well, it took a lot more to throw her off than a mean stare, so she sauntered up to him anyway and tried to get him to talk to her.

Gods, he'd been _rude_. She remembered staring at him for a split second, fighting the impulse to punch him in the face for what he had just said to her. Could have done it, too. Courtesy of that few drops of dragon blood flowing through her veins, most people she punched _stayed_ punched.

On the other hand, maybe not – he was not as muscular as, say, Casavir, not by far, but he was wiry and pretty quick, so he might have dodged her blow. Anyway, she had decided not to do it. It would have been poor thanks to Duncan if she started a brawl in his tavern. So she shrugged and moved away, and ignored him from that moment on.

Until Duncan had had the brilliant idea of blackmailing Bishop into helping her out. There had been a heated discussion about that; she did not _want_ that creep travelling with her. You had to be able to trust your companions with your life, and Bishop could not be trusted. Hells, had Duncan himself not told her so countless times?

Not that she was not able to see that on her own, everyone with half a brain could see it. Bishop radiated hate, anger and contempt; one could feel it standing on the other side of the room. Not the person she wanted guarding her back. And what did she need him for, when she had Casavir, Khelgar, Elanee, even Neeshka by her side?

But Duncan insisted, and she caved in the end. She had to admit none of them was a tracker, and since time was of the essence, someone with good tracking skills might save Shandra's life. She could not have lived with herself had Shandra died, just because she was being coy about having Bishop around. If it had not been for her, Shandra would not have been abducted, wouldn't she?

So, having to put up with Bishop was a small price to pay for Shandra's safety. _If_ he could be persuaded not to kill them all in their sleep. Chantal had there and then decided to have double guards at night. The thought of leaving Bishop unobserved made her uneasy.

_And how prophetic ha__s that proved to be?_

Chantal sighed again, thinking of these first days, travelling with Bishop. Much to her surprise, he had behaved himself quite well. Well, bad choice of words. His _behaviour_ had been unbearably obnoxious, arrogant and just plain infuriating. But at least he had not tried anything funny, and had led them surprisingly swift to Shandra. He had even proved himself to be handy to have around in a battle. That somehow made up for the lewd comments, the brazen ogling of every female in the group, and the impertinent smirks.

She knew what he was doing, that he was trying to get under her skin and make her lose her temper. That seemed to be his favourite pastime, unfortunately. But she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of getting to her, so all she gave him were some cold stares and silences. Mostly, she just ignored him.

Casavir on the other hand seemed to have a harder time to put up with the obnoxious ranger. He had grown very protective of her, ready to throw himself to the wolves in her defence, so to speak. There had been a couple of times when she thought the paladin's patience would snap and he would try to kill Bishop. Luckily, she managed to calm him down every time, giving him a sweet smile to show him she appreciated his help, but also whispering to him not to fall for Bishop's baits.

Casavir had managed to reign in his fury. Chantal sighed for the third time in as many minutes. That seemed to be what being a paladin was all about, reigning in their emotions, somehow. Such a pity… things might have turned out different, had that not been the case. Maybe, if Casavir had not been that reserved, she would never have…

_No, don't think about it._

Casavir had been so tender, so cautious, so… formal, sometimes. He had taken a long time, admitting to her that he cared for her, even though she had known all along. There was this look in his very blue eyes, when he regarded her. It made her want to just reach out and kiss him. But she hadn't, knowing that he would not approve. That he had to come to terms with his emotions, first. So she tried to give him all the encouragement she could, all the smiles and small touches she could get away with, without driving him into retreat.

The bonus was that somehow Bishop did not seem to like it. Sometimes, when she looked his way while talking to Casavir, she caught him staring, jaw clenched and anger burning in those cold amber eyes. She had to control herself not to laugh, then. Payback really was sweet. Besides, what was he thinking? That his – admittedly – good looks gave him the right to the attentions of every woman in sight? Well, he was wrong about that.

_Oh, __really?_

Shoving the last thought away rigorously, she forced her thoughts to return to Casavir. His reserve had driven her mad sometimes. He seemed to think that she was some delicate flower, something fragile he had to handle with painstaking care. She was anything but, and sometimes she wished he would just get over it and let himself go already.

But he was always the gentleman, wasn't he? Even after they… well, he insisted on calling her "my lady". She had a perfectly good name, but the thought of using it seemed inconceivable to Casavir. And he continued to be tender, and gentle, and caring. It was sweet, in a way, but…

Anyway, after returning safely to the Sunken Flagon, with Shandra in tow, Bishop suddenly decided to stay. She still was not sure why he had done it. Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart, with Bishop, there was always some ulterior motive.

She had tried to find out, to talk to him about it, but all it hat gotten her was some lewd offer to run off with her into the woods. She had to laugh in his face, could not help it. Was that some kind of joke? Probably just a tactical maneuver to throw her off the track. His face stayed impassive, but something showed in his eyes, some glint… was he angry? Dumb question, Bishop was always angry.

_Well, actually…_

Chantal stopped that thought, too, but could not keep her mind from wandering back to the past.

She accepted him into their small group. She did not like him, but she had to admit that his skills were decidedly useful. And after a while, he even became more tolerable. He had probably just needed some time to get used to them all. He stopped ogling the girls, and he stopped making those awfully salacious comments. He even stopped leering. And he started to participate in their discussions, in their planning, and for the first time Chantal realized that he had actually quite a good brain in that thick skull of his. She really came to appreciate his opinions and his advice.

And there seemed to be something different in the way he behaved towards her. She caught him looking at her quite often, and it was not the cold, contemptuous stare she was used to. She thought she saw something soft in his eyes, something unexpected. He even talked to her from time to time, telling her about his youth and the way he had been pressed into Luskan service.

She nearly came to like his company, talking to him and observing his face while he stared at the ground, finding it difficult to talk about his past. There was something vulnerable about his mouth, and she wondered why she had never seen that before. Very likely because mostly, when you looked into his face, you only saw these strange eyes, and there was nothing vulnerable there. They were clearly the eyes of a predator.

But his mouth… it was tender, and sad somehow, and she found herself wondering how these soft lips might feel touching hers.

She had shoved that thought down as soon as it appeared. That was no way of thinking about Bishop. Besides, she had Casavir.

Yet, sometimes, when Bishop suddenly looked up and met her eyes, the look in his was very different from his usual impassive stare. He looked… hurt, and lonely, and she found herself wanting to reach out for him. She did not do it, of course. He probably would have bitten her hand off for noticing what he plainly regarded as weakness.

_Fall for his tricks, that's what you did._

Casavir, as could be expected, did not like her getting better acquainted with Bishop and continued to warn her not to trust the ranger. But that was no wonder, the two men were as different as they could be, and neither of them would ever understand the other. Or even try to. That seemed to be about the only thing they had in common, the way they were stuck in their prejudices.

_Only Casavir had been right all along._

Then… she blushed, thankful that the others were all behind her and could not see the colour in her cheeks. She swallowed and tried to stop the way her mind was wandering.

_You swore yourself __never to think about that again!_

But the images kept coming, images of the night he had turned up in the glade. She had made it a habit, escaping there most evenings, to get away from Kana and the incessant demands holding the keep made on her. She needed some time to be alone, to think, and to relax, without someone barging in on her with one request or the other. It seemed like she could never get a minute alone, as long as she stayed in the keep.

So she came here… and this evening, after some time, she heard a rustling noise behind her, and turned round, alarmed – only to find herself face to face with Bishop. Her heart made a strange flip in her chest, because of the fright he had given her, she told herself.

He looked at her, seemingly surprised himself, and apologized for disturbing her. He seemed sincere, still she did not really believe him. He had to have known she would be here, since she was not in the keep. Where else would she go? So he must have had a reason to show up. Was he looking for her?

Her heart did another flip at the thought, and she was distracted for a moment and too slow in her reactions, when suddenly a strange light showed in his eyes, and with one swift movement he grabbed her wrists and shoved her roughly into the tree behind her, her hands pinned above her head and his body pressing into hers.

She cried out, shocked, and tried to fight him, but he was surprisingly strong and his hands held her wrists in an iron grip. She tried bringing her knee up, but he caught her thigh between his and pressed himself even more against her… and now she could feel him and gods, he was _hard_.

She felt something clench, low in her body, and heat rose up in her. But she forced herself to keep struggling, because this was _wrong_, and how could she react that way, if she had Casavir?

She fought with all her strength, and hurled every insult she had learned from her inventive harborman friends at him, but it seemed not to have the slightest effect on him. His eyes were alight with amber flames, and the heat in them nearly made her knees buckle.

Gods, what was wrong with her? How could she feel that way while he brutally forced himself upon her? This was madness, she could not _want_ to be treated like this!

Then his mouth closed over hers, cutting of the incessant stream of insults she had thrown his way. His tongue found hers, and then he made that noise… that low moan, deep down in his throat, so full of wanting, full of _need_… and that ball of heat exploded in her, and she could not think anymore, swept away by something she had never felt before, naked, unmitigated desire.

Her hands were free now, because his were busy ripping off her clothes, but the only thing they seemed to do was getting rid of his clothes, too. She could think of nothing but getting to feel his skin on hers, licking and sucking and drawing in his scent, this intoxicating smell of earth and leaves and musk that seemed to go straight to her head and make it swim.

She found herself drawn forwards, when he let himself fall back into the grass, and she landed on his chest, clinging to him and still caught in that wild, passionate kiss. More of that needy little noises escaped him, and gods, how she _wanted_ him.

He flipped her on her back, his mouth never leaving hers, and roughly shoved himself into her. She cried out, her fingers digging into his back, her teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle her cries while he started pounding into her. There was no finesse, no playfulness. This was no love-making, this was wild and untamed and rough, just like the man himself. And she wanted _more_.

Eventually, her body spasmed and clenched and she cried out Bishop's name. He let out an answering roar, head thrown back, sounding more animal than man, before collapsing on her, gasping for breath, still holding her tightly in his arms, like he never wanted to let go.

She had to fight for breath herself, and her heart only gradually stopped hammering in her chest. She breathed in his scent – gods, he smelled so _good_ – and closed her eyes, just savouring his closeness. Who would have thought it could be like this? How very different that had been from the soft, tender way Casavir made love to her…

Oh Gods. Oh Gods. _Casavir_. What had she done? How could she do this to him? How could she have done this at all, completely losing any control, rutting like an animal on the ground in the woods with _Bishop_, of all persons? Was she this sick and twisted?

Panic welled up in her, as Bishop gave a contented little sigh and lifted his head, looking down on her. There was a slight smile on his face, and his eyes were warm and… no, no, she could not stand this, could not think about this, had to get away, had to get some air, had to _breathe_…

She averted her eyes, starting to twist and turn and wiggle herself out from under him, collected what little was left and still useful of her clothes and fled into the night, with one last, panicked glance back at Bishop, still on the ground, watching her with an expression on his face she forced herself not to think about.

_And you __would have stayed with the not thinking about Bishop, if you had any sense._

It had been difficult, sneaking into the keep without anyone seeing her, but she managed, which was a very good thing for her dignity. She could never have explained her dishevelled looks, her clothes in shreds and her hair a mess, with leaves and little twigs everywhere.

Most of all, she did not want to meet Casavir. She really had some serious thinking to do.

In the following weeks, she withdrew completely, even from Casavir. _Especially_ from Casavir. She could not be with him, not before she came to terms with what had happened at the glade. Casavir of course was sorrowed, but did not press her.

Much to her surprise, Bishop did not, either. She had not thought him capable of so much consideration. He seemed quite withdrawn, himself, not talking much to anyone. He did not tell Casavir what had happened, either, for which she was immensely thankful. It probably had cost him something, letting the opportunity to really hurt the paladin pass. She began to think that maybe she had been completely wrong about him, that maybe he was not as bad as his reputation.

_Not very bright, were you?_

More and more, she found her eyes drawn to him, to his messy hair, the perpetual stubble on his chin, those beautiful wolf eyes, and most of all, that tender mouth. Remembering the feel of his lips, the passion in his kiss, sent a shiver down her spine.

She tried to repress the feeling, tried to force her thoughts to return to Casavir, but it did not work. She even kept dreaming about that night in the glade, waking up out of breath and her heart beating fast. She had to admit Bishop had awoken something in her, something she had not known was there, and now she wanted more. Wanted Bishop.

The realisation left her horrified, thinking she must be going mad. But the feeling wouldn't go away, no matter how much she tried to quash it.

_Should have tried harder._

One thing was clear, she had to tell Casavir. He deserved honesty, at least. She liked him, very much, and she respected him, and she felt safe with him, but she did not want him, need him, the way she seemed to want and need Bishop.

How did that happen? She hated the man, he was a pain in the ass… only he wasn't really, was he? Underneath the obnoxious behaviour and layers of spite and hate and anger was something vulnerable, and lonely, and needy…

_That's what he tried to make you think._

But she was so sure that she had seen it in his eyes, that moment, weeks after the _incident_, when she had stood at the edge of their camp, lost in thoughts about Bishop again, involuntarily looking for him among her companions, and finding him looking back at her.

The was a strange expression on his face, he looked… shy? Bishop, shy? Yet, that was what he looked like, and she could not look away, even though she feared what he might read in her eyes.

There must have been something to see, because he got up and stalked over to her, in his graceful way, his eyes never leaving hers. He stopped at arms length, and the expression on his face made her heart beat faster. He looked so absurdly hopeful, his emotions as open and unguarded on his face like she had never seen before. She felt a wave of tenderness welling up in her, and she had to smile at him. In this moment, she thought she could love that man standing before her, that other Bishop he kept hidden so well.

Something of it must have shown in her eyes, because a bright, happy grin appeared on his face, an expression she had not even thought him capable of. There was a light in his eyes that made her breath stop. That big grin on his face made him look so much younger, he looked like a boy, happy and carefree and gods, she really did want him.

Just as he made a small movement towards her, she felt hands on her shoulders and Casavir's voice murmuring into her ears, requesting a moment of her time. She could have wept with frustration, but she forced herself to smile at Casavir and nod. He at least deserved this, she would tell him the truth, and then she could return to Bishop, see what they could work out.

She turned to follow Casavir, throwing Bishop an apologetic glance. His face had turned thunderous, the smile wiped away. She sighed, but she had to do this, get clean with Casavir, and then return and talk to Bishop later.

The talk with Casavir had not been fun, but that was to be expected. It was all made so much worse by him being so gentle and understanding and not angry with her at all. He actually had been worried about her, warned her to be careful, feared that Bishop might hurt her… it made her feel like the worst harpy in the world, hurting such a good man.

_Well, __you've paid the bill._

After talking to Casavir, she hurried back to Bishop. Only, Bishop was gone.

She remembered an uneasy feeling creeping into her stomach as she wildly looked around, searching for him. Then Neeshka had just wordlessly pointed into the woods. Had she been this obvious? But Neeshka had not grown so good at what she did by not noticing what went on before her eyes. Hopefully not all her companions were so observant.

That nagging feeling in her stomach grew while she waited for him. Where had he gone? Why? Surely he could not have thought… But he could, couldn't he? It would be exactly what someone like Bishop would think. What he would _expect_. But she could put that right, could explain to him when he returned…

He didn't return. Not that night, not the following day. She felt hollow, empty, finding it hard to concentrate on the task, trying not to let the others see how she felt. But she could feel Casavir's pitying glance on her, so she had to avoid his eyes. She and her companions returned to the keep. And that night, Bishop had betrayed her.

_Well, you should have seen that coming, seeing how everyone told you so._

He had slipped back into the keep, only to leave it open for the invasion of her enemies. It could only have been him; her guards told her later that he had returned, but when the enemy attacked, he was long gone again.

They fought, and they survived, and they got on with the mission, because that was what they were here for. Still, her heart was heavy, and somehow did not believe her when she told it over and over she should be glad that she had gotten rid of him without him doing even more damage.

And now, she was trudging along these gloomy corridors, which went so well with her mood, still feeling guilty about Casavir, faithfully following her after all she had done to him, and still longing for Bishop, after all he had done to her. She tried to hate him, but somehow she could not. Did he plan to betray her to the enemy from the start? Probably. It was just the kind of man he was.

_And still you pine for him. __You really are sick. Get a grip._

She came round a bend and something tingled in the back of her brain. She stopped and stared ahead into the darkness, where nothing moved and no sound was to be heard. But she knew that the shadows were not empty, that something was waiting for her in the dark…

Suddenly, there was movement and a tall figure stepped into the torchlight. Mahogany hair shimmered, and amber eyes were fixed on her face. Her heart did a double flip – traitorous organ – and she stared at him, not trusting her eyes. Without wanting to, she took a step toward him.

"Bishop?", she asked, trying to stop her voice from shaking, trying to sound cool. "You came back?"

Oh, who was she kidding? Seeing him made her breath catch, and she felt anything but cool. She felt… hopeful? Yes, this was definitely hope, creeping up in her, unwanted, but inexorable. Maybe he could explain, maybe it had been a misunderstanding…

_Maybe you just don't care._

She silenced that thought, and could not help but smile at Bishop, and gods, she _was_ glad to see him. If he came back, she could even forgive him what he'd done.

She saw an answering smile appear on his face, and he stepped nearer. Something seemed not quite right with that smile… and just as she thought that, she felt a sharp pain in her gut.

Looking down, she saw a dagger protruding from her belly, Bishop's hand still on the handle.

She stared at him, unbelieving, staggered and had to catch herself on his shoulders, his face so near now, his eyes, cold and hard and full of hate again, the light gone, and still she could not believe that he could do this, that he could murder her in cold blood, while looking into her face.

_Better believe it._

She could not speak, there seemed to be no breath left in her lungs, and she kept staring at him, that stupid hope still in her that he would somehow make it right, somehow take it back, somehow turn back the time. She knew it was not possible, not anymore, but that hope still did not want to die. She looked at him, wordlessly pleading with him.

He stared back, something flickering in his eyes, and then he pressed his mouth on hers, angrily, desperately kissing her, and despite of everything he'd done she felt the heat again, she still _wanted_ him, and she closed her eyes and kissed him back, holding on to his shoulders, still hoping…

…when she felt his lips leave hers, and opened her eyes, to find him sneer over her shoulder at the others, who had not seen what really happened, could not see, because the dagger was hidden between her and Bishop.

Then he looked down at her again, arrogant and contemptuous like the first time she met him. She could not stop pleading to him with her eyes, managing to whisper his name, at last, begging him to stop this madness.

But she saw resolution harden in his face. He twisted the dagger and ripped it up the length of her belly, and the pain was nothing compared to that in her heart.

She fell to the ground, her vision starting to get dim, the shouts of the others seemingly far away, and still she could only stare up at him, knowing that this was the end. Her end, she thought distantly, but it did not seem to matter.

He looked down at her with his wolf eyes for a moment, his face expressionless, then he turned and fled into the darkness.

She felt her life slipping away, killed by the man she thought she could love, but she could not bring herself to care.

_This is your own fault. You knew what he was. And still you threw __yourself to the wolves._

And they had torn her throat out.


	3. Chapter 3 Chance Meetings

Bishop downed the next glass of rotgut, grimacing.

_You should think I'd be a__ccustomed to the taste by now._

He'd been slowly, methodically drinking himself through a bottle of the stuff for the last hour. Like he did nearly every evening, nowadays. Already the room started dancing nicely before his eyes. He eyed the bottle, trying to focus. Well, as far as his blurry vision told him, he was three quarters finished. If he kept up the steady work, he'd accomplish his goal soon.

Which was just plainly passing out. He reached for the bottle, managing to get hold of it at the third try, decided the glass could go to hell, and sucked the rest of the ghastly liquid down in one long gulp. Then, bottle falling out of his hand, he slipped from the chair, landing gracelessly on the tavern floor with a thump, and everything got mercifully dark.

The tavern keeper looked down at his unconscious customer with a wary eye. That one smelled of trouble, if he knew anything about people. When the man slinked into the Boar's Head earlier, hood still over his face and somehow radiating a quiet menace, he had feared for the worst. But luckily the stranger just coldly ordered a bottle of his strongest, waved away any offer of food impatiently, took the bottle to the darkest table in the room and started drinking with what one could only describe as determination. He must have the constitution of a bull, too. The barkeeper had expected him to fall from his chair half a bottle ago.

And what to do with him now? He had not even rented a room. Ah well, he'd just leave the bugger lying on the floor. He'd been neither friendly nor generous enough to deserve any special attention.

The sound of the door being opened made him look up, seeing even more strangers entering his humble establishment. His eyes got big - those two did not look like his normal clientele. The man was large, clad in gleaming plate armour, a mean looking hammer at his side and a shield on his back. He had short, black hair and piercing blue eyes. The woman looked even more unusual, very tall, with near white hair, pale blue eyes and darkish skin. She, too, was well armoured, a gleaming sword in her belt and also a shield on her back.

The barkeeper swallowed nervously and welcomed his new customers as politely as he could manage. The man bade him a good evening in a deep, resonating voice, and asked for a room for the night. The woman smiled up to him affectionately and said, her voice dark and velvety:

"Why, Casavir, only one room? What would Neeshka have to say to that?"

The man smiled back warmly and answered:

"She would say I had the right idea, not letting you out of my sight, my lady."

The woman laughed and punched him on the arm.

"Then let's go up to that room of ours, I'm so tired, I think I could fall asleep standing here."

She smiled at the tavern owner, thanked him and passed him some coins for the room. Making for the stairs, the man followed her, throwing one last glance through the tavern, when his gaze fell upon the prone figure in the corner. He stopped in his tracks for a second, a small hiss escaping his mouth. The woman turned, throwing him a questioning glance and asked:

"Everything all right, Casavir?"

"Yes, my lady. I'm just sore after all this walking", the man replied, quickly turning, as if to block her vision of the room. She laughed.

"You must be getting old, it seems. I never heard you complaining about a day's march before."

The man's answer was lost as they went up the stairs. The barkeeper thoughtfully polished a glass, putting it back into the shelf. He better made sure the man in the corner was gone when these two came back down in the morning, otherwise he might lose a lot of furniture, it seemed.

xxx

Bishop woke up, groaning, his head pounding, and tried to sit up. His stomach heaved at the sudden movement, his head threatened to explode. He groaned again, hands going to his head, and breathed deep and steady.

_I'm not going to be sick.__ I'm not going to be sick._

_Maybe __you _should_ consider eating something in the evenings... _

The thought of food made his stomach lurch again, and he gagged, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes, trying to force the bile down.

Another clattering and clanging like the one that had woken him came from behind the counter. He opened his eyes again, throwing the barkeeper a killing glance. What the nine hells did that cretin have to make such a ruckus for? The barkeeper, seemingly not noticing the danger in the corner, continued to sort his dishes with more force then seemed necessary. The sound felt like hot needles penetrating Bishop's skull, and he winced.

_That's it. I'm going to wring his neck._

Bishop got up, staggered as stars exploded in front of his eyes and his stomach turned. A hand pressed in front of his mouth he stumbled to the door as fast as he could, the affronting barkeeper forgotten, threw himself out of the tavern and was violently sick in the bushes outside.

The barkeeper looked after the hooded stranger with relief. He had managed to get him up without having to wake him personally – a thought that had him shuddering. This one did not look like he took kindly to being disturbed. The relief lasted until he saw the black haired warrior move silently down the stairs, slipping out after the stranger. Damn. Then he shrugged. At least they were outside.

xxx

After the gagging stopped, Bishop leaned back at the wall, eyes closed, breathing deep. This was going to kill him sooner or later. He knew it. If the rotgut did not do the job, one of his many enemies would find him while he was in no state to fight back. Which, admittedly, was quite often these days.

He opened his eyes blearily, cursing the bright morning sun that sent a searing pain directly into his skull. Still not really steady on his feet, he carefully made his way to the water trough by the stable. He bent down and pumped ice-cold water over his head, swearing, but it helped to clear his thoughts a bit. He stopped pumping, resting both hands on the frame of the trough, head down, staring into the water.

_I have to stop this. I have to stop doing this._

Which was what he told himself every morning, really. And his firm resolution lasted every day until nightfall. That was because the days weren't that bad. A lot of things to do in the day. A lot of things to keep your mind occupied. The nights were the bad part. Because in the night, the dreams came. He had tried, tried going to sleep without drinking himself into a stupor first, but the dreams came every time. He could not stand those damned dreams any longer. They drove him insane.

There was the one where he saw her, lying by his side, smiling sweetly at him and telling him she loved him. He kissed her, feeling her soft lips, happier than ever in his life, when suddenly she choked and he tasted blood, and when he opened his eyes, blood was trickling from her mouth, and she whispered: "Why? Why did you do it?", and he was confused and panicked and did not know what she was talking about. Then his eyes fell on the handle of the dagger he just had driven into her belly. He always awoke from that one soaked with sweat, the taste of blood still in his mouth.

And there was the other one, the one where he dreamed about the night in the glade, and in the dream he still felt her nails digging into his back, heard her screaming for more, heard her screaming his name. Invariably, he woke breathing heavily, heart hammering in his chest, painfully _hard_, full of the old need, this hunger that would not be sated, never again. Because he had killed her.

He bit back a curse. He had killed her! What the nine hells had the witch done to him? He killed her and that should be that. Why wouldn't she leave him _alone_?

He heard footfalls behind him, and then a deep, menacing voice sounded out:

"I recognised your foul stench the moment I entered that inn, ranger."

Bishop whirled round, but his reflexes were still not really up to normal, and he found himself pressed back, the trough digging into his knees, his shoulders ground into the wall behind it. The paladin leaned into him, fixing him against the wall with his body, his face mere inches from Bishop's – and he had a dagger at Bishop's throat.

Casavir's blue eyes were hard, his mouth compressed into a thin line, his expression thunderous, his face promising death. For a second, Bishop's survival instincts kicked in, but then he thought better of it. Why fight? The road he was on, he was dead anyway. Better to get it over now. At least the paladin would make it quick.

So he relaxed back against the wall, as far as possible with the trough behind him, and smirked into the other man's face.

"Casavir", he drawled. "Of all the people to run into." He let his gaze wander to the paladin's mouth, so close to his own. "Are you gonna kiss me hello?"

The paladin snarled, his fingers clenching around the hilt of the dagger.

"You stinking swine, I should have bashed your head in a long time ago!"

Bishop chuckled lazily. "Yes, well, but you did not, you being the good little lapdog and her not wanting you to do it. Did you ever wonder why that was?"

"Because she trusted you! I could see plainly what you were, but she really thought you were a human being instead of the filthy piece of garbage that you are. She trusted you, and you betrayed her, and you killed her!"

Bishop sneered. "That I did", he stated, his lips curling derisively. "Wasn't really hard to accomplish."

Casavir clenched his teeth, looking down at him with contempt and disgust. "I did never understand what she saw in you. She should have sent you packing from the beginning."

Bishop grinned smugly. "Yes, but she did not, didn't she. She _wanted_ me around. Maybe that was because I've been giving it to her good."

Casavir hat the distinct feeling of being punched in the gut. He stared down into the hated face, wanting to wipe the gloating smile from it once and for all. Bishop looked at the paladin's thunderstruck countenance and chuckled nastily.

"Oh yes, did not know that, did you? Her and me, we did the dirty. While she was with you, too. Had quite a temper, that one. Left my back looking like I had fallen under a bunch of harpies, always begging me for more..."

Casavir felt hot rage welling up in him, and his hand twitched around the dagger.

"You stinking, filthy, worthless..."

"Yes", Bishop interrupted him. "I've heard all that before. What, are you going to _bore_ me to death? No wonder she came to me for _entertainment_."

Casavir gnashed his teeth, pressing the dagger harder into the ranger's skin. He was going to slit his throat, he was going to do it, the filthy piece of muck was going to pay for what he had done. His hand retracted a bit, preparing for the killing strike...

...when he saw something in the other man's eyes that made him pause. The ranger looked up at him, strangely calm, expectant even, and there was... resignation? And... relief? The realisation hit Casavir like a bucket of water. The bastard _wanted_ to die! And he'd been trying to goad him into doing it.

Casavir smiled coldly into the ranger's face and stepped back.

"Well, that would be cold-blooded murder, wouldn't it? And that is more _your_ line of work, _Bishop_." He spat out the name like something foul. "Besides, I think death would be too easy for you. I think the best punishment for you would be to force you to live with yourself. Because that is the one thing you can never run from, now, is it?"

He threw the ranger a last contemptuous glance, turned and started to walk away.

"Better see that you are gone when I come back out", he added without turning back.

Bishop watched the paladin leave and let himself sink to the ground, leaned his head back at the trough and closed his eyes. He just felt so damned _tired_ of it all.


	4. Chapter 4  Memories

Casavir re-entered the inn, his mind in a turmoil. Gods, how he would have _loved_ to slit the bastard's throat!

He had left the room silently very early in the morning, taking care not to wake Chantal. He had to make sure the ranger was gone when she came down. He could not let her see him. Not after what she had been through. So he went down the stairs and waited for Bishop to get up, to get face to face with him, to... yes, to what? He did not honestly know.

He really wanted to kill him. But Casavir could not do that. It _would_ have been murder, and murder was out of the question. He would have relished to have Bishop thrown into goal, to see him hang for his treachery, but that was impossible too, with Chantal around. She mustn't meet Bishop, ever. Most of all, Bishop must not see Chantal. As long as he thought her dead, he was not going to hurt her again. In any way. So the only option left was to get rid of the traitor, before Chantal came down for breakfast. He sincerely hoped he _would_ be gone, otherwise Casavir was going to throw his scruples into the wind and truly bash his brains.

The ranger's equipment was still standing in the corner, so he took it and unceremoniously threw it out of the front door. Then, he went up the stairs, determined to detain Chantal as long as humanly possible.

His thoughts wandered back to that day, the day he held her in his arms, dead, killed by that triple-damned son of a bitch. He had tried to heal her, but it was too late, the spark gone, only the shell left. He had held her, weeping, his heart broken, cursing Bishop. Then he had prayed, prayed harder than ever in his life, pleading with the gods to bring her back to his side. And then – a golden light, surrounding them both, the gaping wound in her belly closed, and her chest started rising and falling again. He remembered his tears turning into tears of joy, his heart singing, because she had been returned to him.

She gasped, and opened her eyes, stared at him for a second... and then she remembered. He saw desperation on her face, for one short moment. Her hands went to her belly, searching for the wound that was no longer there. Tears appeared in her eyes, but she wiped them away with an angry gesture and finally stood up, her expression turning stony. She said in a toneless voice: "Let's get on. We have a job to do." With that, she just turned, leading them further into the dark tunnels. And they had followed her, like they always did.

She never spoke of Bishop again. Casavir tried to talk to her about it, this was not healthy, but she silenced him with a cold stare each time and turned away without a word.

Then, one night during his watch, he sat staring into the fire, sorrow weighing heavily on his mind, wanting to help her, because what happened had to eat her up inside, but he did not know how to get through this wall she was creating around herself. She had been cutting herself off, not only from him, but from the others as well. He could not begin to imagine how she must feel, but...

He heard movement, and turned around in alarm, but it was only Neeshka. The tiefling sat down wordlessly, beside Casavir, and stared into the fire, too. Casavir was startled, because she normally kept her distance from him, stating his aura made her skin itch. Frankly, that was fine by him, he did not want her near either. She was half-demon, and he felt uncomfortable with her, could not bring himself to trust her, not really. She did not seem truly evil, not like Bishop had been plain as day for everyone who wanted to see, but she surely had a very generous way of dealing with laws, and that demon blood had to make her a liability.

So he was surprised, and not necessarily pleasantly surprised, that she seemed to seek his company. What could she possibly want?

She sat for some time, silently, and he did not speak either. Then she asked in a small voice: "Why? Why did he do it? I just don't understand." She sounded lost, like a small girl, and he looked up, studying her face, taking in the horns, and the red eyes that glimmered in the firelight. He just shrugged and kept looking at her.

She swallowed and continued: "He had been travelling with us for so long. He was not really a nice person to be around, but we have been through a lot together. How could he betray us like that? I mean, I am no saint, and my conscience might be more... elastic than most, but still... I could never turn on my friends like he did." Her eyes fell on Chantal's sleeping form, and a soft expression showed on her face. "I could never turn on her. She was the first to treat me like a human, you know? The first to look behind the horns and see that there was a person there." She fell silent again, her gaze reverting to the fire.

Casavir still looked at her, and he felt shamed. He had not been better than all the others, hadn't he, not better than those who did not look past the horns, only seeing the demon. He was a paladin, he was supposed to be just, but he had been quick to judge her for what she was, what she could not help being. She looked forlorn, an in an impulse he reached out and took her hand. She flinched, looking up at him, her eyes big and surprised. He smiled at her, squeezing her hand reassuringly. She relaxed a bit, but kept looking at him warily.

"I don't know how he could do it", he said quietly. "I guess he just cared for himself. Maybe someone promised him some big reward for it. I knew it would end badly, taking him with us. Men like him, they only cause suffering wherever they go. And they just don't mind."

Neeshka's hand, just lying in his up to now, closed around his fingers as well, holding tight, while her gaze reverted to Chantal. "I think she loved him", she whispered, sad tone in her voice. "I think she did not know it herself, but she loved him. And he tried to kill her in cold blood." Casavir could see tears shimmering in her eyes. "I wish there was something I could do to make it easier for her." One tear rolled down her cheek, and he reached out and put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her near, trying to comfort her like he would have a child.

She let it happen, crying silently for a while, then suddenly she looked up at him, grinning mischievously through the tears. "You know, you really _do_ make my skin itch", she said. And he stared down into her face, speechless for a moment, and he just had to laugh.

After that, she came to sit with him when she could not sleep, and soon, he started to look forward to their conversations. She was quite clever, had a quick wit and a sharp tongue, and she often made him laugh. He realised he had not laughed a lot these past months, and laughing felt good. She could be innocent one moment, and sly in the next, or change between serious and mischievous in the blink of an eye. She teased him, and she made fun of him, and he really started to like that he never knew what she would say next.

And one night, when they sat by the fire, she was unusually silent, so he asked her what was wrong. She looked up at him, strange expression in her eyes, reached up, took his face between her hands, pulling him down, placing a soft kiss on his lips. He startled, drawing back, but then he saw uncertainty and hurt in her eyes. His arms went around her and he pulled her near, kissing her tenderly. She sighed and melted against him.

"I thought I made your skin itch?", he murmured into her mouth.

She giggled. "You do. It's starting to feel really nice after you get used to it. More like a prickling. I like it."

He laughed, hugging her close and feeling more lighthearted then he had for a long time. But she withdrew a bit, looking into his eyes, suddenly serious, and said: "I'm not her, you know?"

The laughter dying in his throat, he stared down at her, trying to sort out his feelings. She held his gaze defiantly, chin raised, and only the tenseness in her shoulders betrayed her anxiety.

"I know", he said eventually, as serious as she. "I am not going to tell you I don't love her anymore. I will probably always love her, in a way. But I've known for some time that she does not love me, and I have tried to come to terms with that. And you..." he let a finger trace her lips softly, "have helped me a great deal. You are sweet, and caring, and you have a good heart. And you are very beautiful. And if you give me a chance, I'll do everything I can to make you happy. Because..." he smiled at her, "you make me happy. Very much so. What do you say?"

She squealed, one of these little impulsive things he had gotten to like so much about her, and hugged him fiercely. "I say yes!" she whispered into his ear.

That had been nearly a year ago. And since that time, his love for the tiefling had steadily grown. His sense of duty had often chafed at the way she tended to ignore any laws she did not like, and she could be reckless and irritating, but at heart she was a good person. And she loved him, she truly did. She had been good for him, making fun of his gloominess, always being able to coax him out of his mood by forcing him to laugh at himself. And he had been good for her, caring for her, protecting her, looking out for her and bringing some stability into the chaos that was her life.

He still loved Chantal, deeply. They had been through hell together, literally, and he would always follow her faithfully. But he did not long for her any more. He would never give up Neeshka, never in a thousand years, not for Chantal, not for anybody.

He had reached the room he shared with Chantal, when the door opened and she regarded him, her brows drawn together. "Where ever have you been?", she asked.

He shrugged, smiling at her and stepping to the door, forcing her to retreat into the room. "Outside, doing my morning prayers. It's going to be a beautiful day. And you were sleeping so soundly, I did not want to disturb you."

She looked surprised, but accepted his words without question. One of the benefits of being a paladin, no one expected you to be lying, he thought ruefully. He was surprised himself how easily the lie had passed his lips.

_Must be Neeshka__'s bad influence. My conscience seems to be getting more elastic, too._

"The morning prayers must have been fun", Chantal's voice broke into his thoughts. "You are staring into space, grinning like an idiot. I should try it sometimes, too, it seems, if it gives one such a happy."

He laughed. "I was thinking about Neeshka."

She grinned up at him. "She really has you head over heels, hasn't she?"

"Oh, yes," he said contentedly, soft smile on his lips.

xxx

Casavir played for time as best as he could, rearranging his backpack twice, insisting on polishing a few imaginary spots out of his armour, chatting idly, until Chantal started to shoot him suspicious looks and threatened to go down for breakfast without him, since she claimed to be starving.

When he could not draw it out any longer, he left the room with her, managing to go down the stairs first. He scanned the tavern room anxiously, searching for Bishop, but to his immense relief the room was empty. Hopefully the filthy dog would have the sense to stay out of Casavir's sight. And Chantal's sight.

They sat at one of the tables, ordering coffee, eggs and bread. While the barkeeper was busy in the kitchen, they sat in silence for a while. Then Chantal asked:

"So, how long until Neeshka will be meeting us here?"

He shrugged, concern showing on his face. "I don't know, two or three days. She would not say, and she would not say where she was going. She would not let me come with her. I hope she did not get into trouble." The thought of something happening to Neeshka made his heart contract. But she had been determined to go, and no one kept Neeshka back if she wanted to go. And no one followed her if she did not want to be followed. So he had to accept, and to wait, anxiety growing in him.

Chantal put her hand over his. "I'm sure she is fine", she said softly. "She is very well able to look out for herself."

He sighed. "I know, but something has me worried. She normally tells me what she's up to. That she did not proves that I would not let her go if I knew. So it must be something dangerous, or foolhardy, or very illegal." He paused. "Probably all of the above."

She squeezed his hand, releasing it as the barkeeper appeared, carrying two plates. "Let's wait for two days, and then we'll start looking for her."

He nodded, gratefully, and started on his breakfast, his thoughts slipping into the past again.

He and Neeshka, they had taken it really slow. Probably because their feelings had been so unexpected for both of them. But it suited him, he was not one for rash action anyway. So they only slipped away from the camp from time to time, clandestine meetings in the woods, mostly just hugging each other and a few sweet kisses. All very romantic. He needed time to deal with the feelings he still had for Chantal, and Neeshka had to get used to the idea of a long-term relationship. But it worked, for them both, and Casavir slowly felt the emotional baggage that had been dragging him down for so long fall away.

Chantal, on the other hand, did not seem to get any better. The wound in her belly was healed, and she was alive again, a miracle granted by the gods who still needed her to fulfil her task. But inside, the wounds still bled and festered. He could see she was just going through the motions, cutting herself off, not letting anyone near, not talking to anyone. She concentrated on their mission, duty kept her going, but she seemed more like a walking statue, dead inside. He desperately wanted to help her, but he still met with cold silence every time he tried talking to her.

Then, one day, standing in the woods with Neeshka, holding her close, softly laughing at something she had said, because she could always cheer him up, gods bless her, he heard a noise, turned, and saw Chantal standing a few yards away, staring at them. She looked like she had been struck by lightning, and then tears welled up in her eyes and started rolling down her cheeks. Casavir knew she did not cry for him, but because the sight reminded her of what she had lost, and for the first time, he felt no sting at the thought.

There was a nudge in his side, and he looked down and saw Neeshka wordlessly pointing her head in Chantal's direction. Then she smiled up at him, nodded, and quietly slipped away into the trees. Casavir crossed the distance, drew Chantal in his arms, holding her, murmuring soothing words into her ear. And she clung to him, face pressed into his shoulder, sobbing her heart out. He let her cry, stroking her hair, just holding her, relieved that the wall was crumbling at last. Now, after she started dealing with the pain, her wounds could begin to heal. And in time, the scars would fade.

She cried for a long time, the sobs finally subsiding, but still she clung to him, needing the comfort he gave her. Then she drew back a bit, smiled up at him shakily, her eyes red and puffy, and started to fumble for a handkerchief in her pockets. He passed her his, and she took it with a thankful glance, blowing her nose noisily.

"Always the gentleman", she murmured thickly. And after a small pause: "Sorry for that", pointing at his very wet shirt.

He smiled at her, drawing her close again. "My shirt and my shoulder are always at your service, my lady", he murmured.

She sighed, resting her head at said shoulder again, letting him hold her just a bit longer. Then she whispered: "Thank you."

"You're welcome", he said gruffly, feeling a bit awkward. "I only wish you would have let me do this earlier."

She lifted her head, looking up at him, reached out and softly touched his face. "I am so lucky to have good friends like you. Poor Casavir, you have warned me from the beginning, but I just did not want to listen to you. And I paid a steep price for that. I really owe you an apology."

"You owe me nothing, my lady", he replied, moved by her words. "I only wish I could have prevented you from being hurt so much."

She smiled at him and said: "You and Neeshka...?"

He knew she was deliberately changing the subject, but he did not object, the dam was broken and that was a first step. Time would do the rest.

"Yes", he answered, smile on his face.

She smiled back. "I am glad. You both deserve to be happy. But..." she hesitated a bit, then continued: "Well, she is not exactly the paramount of a law-upholding citizen, you know? Do you think you will be able to live with that?"

"Yes, I think so", he answered. "I think she is prepared to meet me halfway, and I shall do the same. She has a good heart, and that is what matters, even if her methods are often not to my liking. But life is too short to waste a chance at happiness because of so trivial matters. I am hopeful we can work it out."

He winced, realising that his words must have hurt her, making her remember things that had _not_ worked out, but she just looked at him, eyes hooded and deadly serious, and said: "It is. I wish you both will find the happiness you deserve." Then, with a small sigh, she patted him on the shoulder and said: "Let's return to the camp. Neeshka's neck must be hurting like hell by now, looks like she's been craning it round that tree over there for the last half hour."

From that moment on, Chantal's behaviour changed. She was more open than ever before, seeking out the others, talking, even smiling sometimes, and if she was not exactly happy, at least she did not seem dead inside anymore. The others noticed too, of course, and when Khelgar commented, in his own blunt way, she just smiled and told him:

"I've come to realise how short life is. And how quickly a life can end, especially the way people like us live. So I decided not to waste whatever time I have left closing myself off, but to spend as much as possible of it with the people I love. You all have been better friends then I deserve, and I thank you for it."

She bent down, kissing Khelgar on the cheek. Seeing the battle-hardened dwarf blush crimson had been a sight to behold.

"A copper for your thoughts", Chantal's voice reached his ear, pulling him back to the present.

Casavir looked up, guiltily. "I'm still worried about Neeshka", he said. This was not technically a lie, only not the answer to her question. Oh yes, his conscience definitely was getting more elastic. Neeshka would be so proud.

She patted his hand again. "It's going to be all right, you'll see. Now, how about you finish these eggs, and then we can have a little walk outside, since you praised the weather so much. Plus, there is not really a lot to do, if we have to wait for Neeshka to grace us with her presence."

Some minutes later, they stepped into the sunshine, Casavir's eyes carefully taking in the yard in front of the inn. When he could detect no trace of the ranger, he relaxed. Chantal fell in step with him, affectionately taking his arm, and smiled up at him.

"Now, why don't you tell me about that house you want to buy for Neeshka and you in Neverwinter?", she asked, twinkling.

He looked down at her, surprised, and laughed. "I could swear I never told anyone about that. How _do_ you know?"

She grinned like a cat. "Well, if you want to keep something a secret, you should not talk to agents while Neeshka is around, even if you close the door behind you. She has been so excited the last couple of weeks, I think she has told half of Neverwinter by now."

He threw his had back, laughing, and she joined in, walking down the path with him, still holding onto his arm.

Neither of them noticed the burning amber eyes following them from a nearby thicket.


	5. Chapter 5  Revelations

Still resting his aching head against the water trough, Bishop heard a clattering. He turned round, just in time to see his backpack flying out of the tavern door, right after his swords and bow, already lying in the yard. Then the rest of his possessions followed, and the door closed with a bang.

Bishop's jaw clenched, some of the old fury rising again. That arrogant son of a bitch. If he thought Bishop would just run, tail between his legs, he was sorely mistaken. He would...

_Wait a moment. Something's wrong here._

Why _did_ the prick want him gone so desperately? It just did not add up. That he did not kill him made sense in a way, it was _against the law_, wasn't it? Bishop sneered. That wimp.

_Maybe you should have been a bit more subtle with the provocation__s. Even the thick-skulled fool could see through that._

But as a good, law abiding upstanding citizen, he should be expected to try and drag Bishop in front of a court. Bishop was the nasty Neverwinter traitor, after all. So why did the paladin just let him go? Tell him to run, even? Oh yes, something was definitely wrong here. And Bishop was going to find out. At least, that would keep his thoughts occupied.

So he collected his stuff and found a nice hideout in the thicket across the path. Rolling out his blanket, he lay down on the soft ground, getting comfortable while watching the inn. This could take some time.

But he did not have to wait too long. After about an hour, the door of the inn opened and the paladin stepped outside. And behind him...

Bishop's heart stopped for a second, then started to pound in his chest. Breathing hard, feeling like a horse kicked him in the guts, he stared, not believing his eyes, at the woman now taking the paladin's arm, smiling up at him. Her white-blue hair gleamed in the sun, and he could hear her happy laughter like the tinkling of a chime. He had always liked her voice, smooth and soft as velvet.

_She's alive. She's alive. She is not dead. She's alive._

Completely dumbfounded, the thought spinning like a wheel in his head, he stared after the two as they walked down the path, arm in arm, still laughing merrily together. A wild medley of emotions warring in him, Bishop lay paralysed as disbelief, joy, anger, need, frustration, hate, relief, longing, and finally rage coursed through him.

Still happy in the arms of that pillock!

_Well, what did you expect? That she would renounce all men, because of the unforgettable way you knifed her?_

_Shut up. Shut! Up!_

Clenching his fists, nails digging into his palm, repressing the urge to scream in frustration, he jumped up, sat down again, jumped up, and at last drew his swords and started hacking away at the surrounding foliage in blind fury, needing to vent his wrath by destroying something, _anything_, until he sagged to his knees, panting, exhausted and soaked with sweat, blood still roaring in his ears.

After his breathing returned to normal, he slowly came to his senses again. His rage subsiding, he felt empty and numb as he took in the destruction around him. Well, his hiding place was not so hidden anymore, he thought dully. He better was gone before they came back. And they would be back, because they did not carry anything, so their things must be still in the inn. He must get away. He needed time to think.

Grabbing his backpack, blanket and weapons, he quickly disappeared deeper into the woods. Weaving swiftly through the trees, he approached a little lake in a hidden clearing, away from all the paths. No one would disturb him there. Arriving at the small green body of water, he quickly threw off his sticky clothes and jumped into the cool liquid, feeling it close over his head. He let himself sink to the bottom, closing his eyes, enjoying the water cooling down his heated skin, washing off the dirt and the sweat, wishing it could wash away his thoughts and memories as well.

His lungs finally demanding air, he broke the surface, turned on his back, just letting himself float, gazing up into the blue sky.

_What do I do now?_

That was the crucial question, wasn't it? What did he do now? She had haunted him for nearly a year, the memories of her; the thought of never having her close again driving him slowly mad, while self-loathing for his weakness was eating away at him. That was not _him_. He never felt guilt. He never got close to anyone. He never needed anyone. And he never, ever let anyone in. He used people and went on. That was the way it ought to be.

So what had the bitch done to him? Why could he not just forget her and go on? He had gutted her like a pig, thinking her death would set him free. When he realised that even though she was dead, the longing still plagued him, the need for her still burned in his blood, he had tried everything he could imagine to get her out of his mind. He had laid every woman he could get, which were quite a lot. Women seemed to find him fascinating. He snorted derisively at the memory. Gods, they all were so _stupid_. A long glance and a smile was mostly all it took. Unfortunately it was much harder to get rid of them afterwards.

So he had drowned himself in bodies, hoping to erase the memory of a specific one. It had not helped. Night after night, after he was done, he would get up and leave in disgust, feeling the urge to wash. They were all so _insipid_, so _useless_. No spirit, no brains, no strength.

_Not like her at all._

After he finally admitted to himself that all he did was somehow search for her in every woman he picked up, he stopped. It was pointless. So he started taking on every reckless venture he could find, drowning himself in blood instead. That had worked a bit better. Violence was something he understood, and killing things served to vent the rage and frustration in him. Feeling the flesh and bones of his enemies rend under his swords made his blood sing with elation, and the frenzy of battle allowed him to forget for a while. But he still had to sleep. And the dreams were still driving him crazy.

So in the end, he went to sleep with a bottle of the worst stuff he could get his hands on every night. At least, that kept away the dreams. It had been like this for longer then he cared to consider.

And now – she was alive.

He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact. After all that, she was alive. The paladin must have healed her. But Bishop had been so sure he had been thorough, that she was as good as dead, too late for anyone to save her. He had not been trained by Luskan as an assassin for nothing. If there was anything he was good at, it was killing. He knew his trade. And he had been sure she was finished.

But why she lived was not the really important question, wasn't it? The important question was: How did he get rid of her, once and for all? He had to get her out of his mind, had to get her out of his life, had to get her out of his blood. Gods, how he hated her for doing this to him, for getting under his skin like that.

_I'm just gonna kill her for good this time._

_Oh yeah, that worked real well, did it?_

_Shut up. She wasn't dead._

_But you thought so, and it near killed you, stupid sod._

Groaning in frustration, he swam to the edge of the pool, leaving the water, sitting down on the bank to let the sun dry him, his mind still in overdrive. He had not felt this helpless for a long, long time, and he did not like the feeling at all. Anger rose in him, black and suffocating. Anger at her, anger at the paladin, anger at himself. Anger and fury had always been his reaction to every problem, and killing what angered him usually an easy solution. It had done very well for him up to now.

But with his usual approach not working, he just did not know what to do.

He threw his head back and screamed his rage into the silent woods.

xxx

After taking a long, nice stroll in the warm morning sun, Chantal and Casavir returned to the Boar's Head. Chantal had her arm through Casavir's while they walked in amiable silence. Then she sighed.

"This is so odd. I'm used to having hordes of enemies at my heels, I just don't know what to do with myself if there is no battle to prepare for. Having two long days ahead and nothing to do – what am I going to do with all that time?"

Casavir chuckled. "Well, you could start cleaning that very dirty sword of yours. Or your equally dirty armour. How about that?"

Chantal considered, then shook her head. "That's just boring. I hate doing that."

"As I can see", Casavir replied, eyeing her equipment.

Chantal gave him a disapproving glance. "Well, that's insubordination, talking like that to your fearless leader. For punishment, I command that you clean my stuff. So unfortunately, it is out of the question as a pastime for me, since I need all that dirt for disciplinary measures." She smiled up to him beatifically. "You'll have to find something else to entertain me."

"What?" he replied. "I am not only your squire, but also your jester, my lady? I don't think I can cope with the demands such a double occupation will make on me. So I'm going to resign on both, only keeping my third employ as your personal bodyguard. That's enough to give a man grey hair prematurely."

Chantal eyed his raven hair searchingly. "Seems like you're not doing your work properly, then. So we're back to the disciplinary measures. Cleaning my equipment it is."

He gave her a threatening look. "Better get used to the dirt."

"Oh well", she said philosophically. "Some of these spots have become quite dear to me. In fact, I've named a few. I would hate to see them ended brutally by cloth and oil." Looking at the face he made, she could not hold back her laughter any longer and gave him a friendly peck on the cheek.

She really was lucky to have friends like him, she thought. The last year had been a hard one, and she would not have made it without their help. Not only would she never have been able to defeat the King of Shadows without her brave and loyal companions, she also would never have been able to deal with… the other thing. Especially Casavir had always been there for her. She would never have made it without him. They had grown much closer over the last year than they had been even when they were together. He had become something like a brother to her. A big, brooding brother, but he always looked out for her. And Neeshka had been good for him, he was much more relaxed and fun to be around these days.

Lost in her thoughts, Chantal did not notice Casavir surveying the surroundings with a suspicious eye as they neared the inn. He could see no trace of Bishop, but his eyes found a spot in the foliage that seemed strangely damaged. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. Had that been there before? If only he could remember. But he could not go and have a closer look without drawing Chantal's attention.

So he entered the inn after her, already thinking of ways to keep her inside, out of eyeshot of a certain ranger.

xxx

Bishop was still lying in the grass by the lake, staring up in the blue sky, trying to decide what to do next, when his stomach started growling dangerously. He sighed, got up and started to dress. That decided his first course of action. He had to eat something.

_Can't live on air and booze alone._

Pity. Well, at least he would get to kill something. Something small, but anyway.

Later, he was sitting by a small fire, wolfing down roasted rabbit, feeling more like himself, his mind working properly again. Something was definitely off. How come he did not know she had been still alive? When the King of Shadows had not risen, he had just assumed the rest of the illustrious troupe had managed without her. The whole destiny thing had been a load of bull anyway in his eyes.

But if she was still alive, hero of Neverwinter, how come he had never heard?

_Maybe __I should try talking to people sometimes._

_Nah._

Still, even if he kept to himself and tended to kill people who offended him by talking too much, he should have heard _something_. In the time after... well, most of these wenches had been regrettably talkative. And he could not simply kill them outright, because he still had uses for them alive. So he was forced to listen to a lot of rabble. But none had ever mentioned the return of the lady knight of Neverwinter. How come?

His curiosity was piqued. There was something mysterious here. And what were they up to, in that miserable inn in the middle of nowhere? Not only passing through, but obviously staying? Were they waiting for someone? Something? Pensively chewing on a rabbit leg, he decided he'd like to find out. And determine how to go on afterwards. So he would return to the Boar's Head. Wait outside. Follow them when they left. And take it from there. No need for rash action.

Calm now, after finally coming to a decision, he finished his meal, covered the fire, and went back to the inn, to observe. Somehow he had the feeling he would not need any bottle tonight.


	6. Chapter 6  Into the Woods

Returning to the Boar's Head, Chantal and Casavir were greeted by the innkeeper.

"There's a letter waiting for you, sir", he said to the paladin.

"A letter?", Casavir replied, surprised and alarmed. "Who brought it?"

The tavern keeper shrugged. "Some lad. I did not know him, and he did not give me a name. But he said it was for you, described you quite accurately." He handed the paladin a sealed piece of parchment.

Casavir took it. "It's Neeshka's hand", he said, voice shaking a bit.

"Well, I'll leave you to it", Chantal said, encouragingly. "Maybe she wants to meet us somewhere else. Read it, then come and see me in our room." She nodded to him and climbed up the stairs.

Casavir took the letter outside, sitting down on a bench in front of the inn. With a feeling of deep foreboding, he broke the seal.

xxx

An hour later, Chantal left her room, feeling worried. Why had Casavir not turned up? The letter must have been bad news. What kind of scrape had Neeshka managed to maneuver herself into this time? And where _was_ Casavir?

She found him outside, sitting on a bench, the piece of parchment in his hands, staring into space, looking ghostly pale.

"Casavir?" He did not react. "Casavir!"

Still no reaction. Chantal felt panic rise in her chest. Something really bad had happened. She went up to him, grabbing his shoulder.

"Casavir! Talk to me! What happened?"

He finally turned his eyes to her, and she thought she had never seen this much anguish in one man's face. Wordlessly, he handed her the piece of parchment and buried his face in his hands.

Chantal took the letter and frantically started to read.

_My dear Casavir,_

_if you read this, something will have gone horribly wrong. Please try to forgive me, but I had to do it. A "friend" of mine called in an old debt, and I really had no choice. He needed... something collected in Luskan, and had decided I was the right one to do it. He has a certain persuasive way, so I went._

_I have managed to slip through the gates into the city without drawing notice. Tonight, I am going to collect the goods. I will leave this letter with some acquaintances, in case I don't come back. If so, I will find out first hand what this famous Luskan high and low justice is all about. And my contacts will drop this letter off at the Boar's Head for you._

_Goodbye, my love. Please forgive me. I love you._

_Neeshka_

Chantal choked back a sob, falling on her knees besides the paladin, drawing him into her arms.

"That stupid girl", she whispered. "How could she do anything like that? How could she take that risk? What kind of hold has that "friend" over her? She would not go willingly into Luskan. Her letter says as much, too. Why did she not come to us for help?"

Casavir drew back from her, his back rigid, his eyes dry, his mouth compressed tightly. "I don't know. But I will find him. And I will make him pay. He will suffer." His fists clenched. "He will suffer very much. I will see to it personally."

Chantal gazed at him, worried. This was not like Casavir, speaking about making people suffer, making them pay.

"You mean, after we get Neeshka back?", she asked.

"It's too late", he said dully. "They have caught her, otherwise this letter would not have been brought here. And if she was caught in Luskan, then she is dead already. They don't tend to waste time with trials and such. I've lost her." For the first time, his eerily calm voice caught.

"You're wrong", she said, vigorously. "They will take their time. She is not just any thief. She is one of the heroes of Neverwinter. And she is a tiefling. They will make a big ceremony out of her trial and her execution. They will draw it out. And that will give us time to save her. And we will, you hear?" She took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "We will save her. She's your lover, and my friend. We will not give up on her. So get your lazy ass off this bench, climb into that spotless armour of yours, and let's get moving. We have something to do!"

He met her gaze, a shred of hope appearing in his sapphire eyes. "You think there still is a chance? You think she is still alive?", he asked, a pleading tone in his voice that touched her heart. She could not bear seeing him like this, so broken. How could Neeshka do this to him? If the Luskans did not kill her, Chantal had a mind doing it herself, as she looked into Casavir's forlorn eyes. But for that, they had to get her first.

"Yes, that's what I keep saying, isn't it? So hop to it, we don't have time to waste." She patted his shoulder and got up, grabbing his hand and pulling him with her. Sometimes it was very useful, having that drop of dragon blood. If she set her mind to it, not even Casavir could withstand her, big strong paladin that he was. She practically dragged him back into the inn, because he still seemed too petrified to move on his own.

She surely hoped that she was right. That they still _did_ have a chance to save Neeshka.

xxx

Across the path, Bishop had watched the scene with his brows drawn together. What could this be all about? He had arrived here, nearing the inn cautiously, immediately noticing the paladin sitting on the bench, slip of paper in his hand. Not moving. For more then thirty minutes. Just sitting, staring, not moving a muscle.

Very strange. And then the ice queen came out, talking to the paladin, but he did not react, until she started shaking him. Then he handed her the paper, and she read it, and dropped to her knees, trying to hug Casavir, but he drew back. What Bishop would not have given to know what was written on that piece of paper. They talked a bit, and the ice maiden had practically dragged the guy back into the inn. And it did not look like something romantic. Strange things were going on. Bishop settled back into the thicket to watch.

He did not have to wait for long. A short time later, they came back out – fully armoured, their packs on their back. Obviously leaving for good this time. Well, Bishop would find out where they went. And then he would decide what to do with them.

Chantal and Casavir were on their way, unsuspecting of the shadow that followed on their heels.

xxx

Bishop had been following them for two days now, taking great care to keep his distance. If they noticed him, that might create some uncomfortable situations. So he watched, and he wondered. Where the nine hells did they think they were going? Did they not know they were wandering deeper and deeper into Luskan territory? What were they up to? The route they were taking was making him more than nervous.

_Just turn around and go – no one told you to follow them._

_I have__ to know what they are up to._

_Yes, and you want to watch her a bit more, do you?_

Resolutely muting his traitorous inner voices, he continued to follow the ice queen and her paladin, safely out of sight, still not believing the direction they were travelling. Two more days of walking, and they would march right up to the Luskan gates.

This was no good. He just had to know. This evening, if in any way possible, he would sneak up to their camp and try to find out what they were up to.

Come nightfall, his quarry found a little spot just off the path to camp. Luckily, they were in the woods, so it was not really hard for him to approach them without notice. Silently creeping through the undergrowth, taking painstaking care not to make any noises, he crept up right to the edge of the glow made by their campfire.

It was the first time since that day so long ago that he saw her close. Her beauty still made his heart beat faster and his breath catch. Why? How could she do this to him? It was ridiculous. He deliberately tried to relax, breathing low and even. He could hear their voices, talking quietly. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his hearing, not daring to get any closer.

"Don't worry, Casavir", he could hear her say, her voice as melodic as he remembered it. "We'll think of something. We'll get her out. We won't leave her to those people, we just won't."

"As my lady says", the low voice of the paladin came. Bishop frowned. The guy sounded positively devastated. What could have caused this? Not that the sound of it did not please Bishop's ears, but still...

"Casavir!", she exclaimed. "Would you please not sound so hopeless? If you already give her up, then she really will be lost. I need you in this, you hear? We both have to do everything we can. So pull yourself together, will you?"

"Yes, my lady", his answer came, in the same resigned tone of voice.

He heard her groan, then she said: "Ok, so let's plan. Do you know your way around in Luskan? I've never been there myself, so it might be useful if you knew the city."

_Luskan_? They really _wanted_ to go to Luskan? Bishop opened his eyes again, staring at them from the shadows, unbelieving. Was this some kind of joke?

"No, my lady. My travels never took me there. I am sorry."

"No problem." She obviously tried her best to sound chipper. "Let's start at the beginning, then. They won't be very happy to see us, there. Or much too happy, depending on your view of things. So how do we get through the gates? And once we are through, where do we go? How do we find her, and once we have found her, how do we get her out?"

Hesitation was palpable in Casavir's voice. "I don't know. I guess if we draw up our hoods, and..." He stopped, using a word Bishop had not believed the holier-then-thou paladin would even know, much less pronounce. "Damn it, I don't know!", he exclaimed, desperately. "This is all my fault! How could I ever let her out of my sight?" He buried his face in his hands.

Bishop's frown deepened. What the nine hells was _that_ about?

The ice queen slid over to the paladin, putting her arm around his shoulders, soothing. "Please don't, Casavir", she said with a small voice. "Neeshka is tough, and she's resourceful. She will find a way to survive, until we get her out."

_Neeshka_? The paladin felt miserable because he failed to protect the _demon girl_? And there Bishop had thought nothing could surprise him anymore.

He had heard enough, besides, he did not like the sight of those two cuddling. It made his stomach turn sour. So he slid silently away, back into the night forest, his mind working feverishly. As soon as he brought enough distance between him and the others to be sure they would not discover him, he got up and started pacing.

What did they think they were doing? Were they completely out of their minds, to wander into Luskan like that? So the goat girl got herself into trouble. Who cared? Should have known better then let her horns be seen in Luskan. And now they were _following_ her, doing the daring rescue thing? It was madness! Pure lunacy! They were probably _the_ most wanted people in Luskan, and they would be recognised as soon as they showed their faces at the city gates! Drawing up their hoods! Well, there was a brilliant plan! Everyone in Luskan must know their description and the ridiculous sum that surely was on their heads, plus, they weren't exactly hard to identify, especially the ice queen with her exotic looks. This was suicide!

_And why do you care?_

_I don't!_

_Like hell you don't._

So maybe he did care. So what. No way he was going to let those Luskan dogs have the privilege of killing her. No damn way. She was his. His prey. His to kill. His to... well, to kill. No one else was going to touch her!

But if they marched up to the Luskan gates, merrily, it would be a bit hard to press the priority of his claim. Seeing that he could not show his face in that rathole either. And that Luskans were generally not the most understanding of people. So he had to stop them. Must keep them from going anywhere near – well, near_er –_ that blasted place. But how? _How?_ He had no idea.

He did not get much sleep that night, tossing on his blanket, and when he finally relapsed into an uneasy doze, he saw her dangling from a rope, her blue eyes wide open and unseeing. He woke in the morning, feeling like something had chewed him up and spat him back out.


	7. Chapter 7 Joyous Reunion

Bishop followed them the next day, still at a safe distance, his mind frenetically working, trying to find a way out, trying to think of something to stop them going further. Nothing would come, no glimmer of an idea. Tomorrow, they would be reaching Luskan's walls, and he still did not know what to do. He cursed under his breath, watching them set up camp beside a little stream, for the last time before they came up to the city. If he was going to do something, he would have to do it soon.

Only he still had no idea.

He watched as she pointed along the stream and said something to the paladin, who just nodded. Then she started walking away from the camp, following the brook. She was probably going to take a bath. And surely that pansy of a paladin was going to _respect her privacy_.

Bishop drew back a bit, melting into the woods as she passed not far from where he stood, and without thinking, followed her quietly. She walked for several minutes, then took a look around – he slipped behind a tree, easily avoiding her sight – and started shedding her armour. His mouth went dry as piece after piece of her clothing fell to the ground, until at last she stood there, wearing nothing. He swallowed, heat welling up in him, thinking she must be able to feel his eyes burning her skin.

He took in her beauty, her grace. She should not be graceful, not at her size, but she was. She was so tall, with muscles rippling beneath her soft tanned skin. Just watching her made his heart race and his breath stop. She turned to the brook, showing him her well-formed and equally breathtaking backside, and gingerly stepped into the water, shivering a bit at the cold, sat down and started to rinse off the dust of the roads.

He watched her, a burning in his heart, not able to take his eyes away. She looked like a goddess. It was not hard to believe that celestial blood was flowing in her veins. He imagined what would happen to her if she got caught, what the Luskan guards would do to her before she was tried and executed, and shuddered, the images making him feel sick. Images he had tried to repress for so long...

No! He would not let her be defiled by the hands of those filthy Luskan dogs! They would not get their paws on her, not if he could help it, no matter what.

His resolution hardened, he stood and waited until she was finished, stepping out of the water, her blue-white hair wet and tangled. His eyes found a scar on her belly, pale line on her bronze skin, reaching from her sternum nearly down to her pelvis. The vivid memory of her warm blood gushing over his hands invaded his mind, and he closed his eyes, trying to repress the image.

When he looked again, she was nearly dressed and picking up the last of her things. He swallowed. Well, now or never, was it? He stepped around the tree, walking up to her. Her head snapped around, and when she saw him, her eyes went big, and her face ghostly pale. She seemed to sway for a moment, but then the colour rushed back to her face, her eyes narrowed into slits, and she had her sword out in a heartbeat. Before he could react, she had jumped the remaining distance, and he found the tip of her blade digging into his throat, just under his chin.

"_You!_", she spat, her voice quivering with fury and hate. "You _dare_ show your face to me? Come to finish the job, do you? Well, I'd just _love_ to see you try, filthy bastard! How long have you been watching me?"

He just looked at her, barely breathing, saying nothing. Sometimes it was healthier to keep your tongue.

She audibly gnashed her teeth. "You foul, stinking, worthless piece of shit! Give me one reason, just one, why I should not do the world a huge favour and kill you this second!"

He looked into her eyes, his chin up to ease the pressure of the sword, trying to make his voice sound as calm as humanly possible. "Because you need my help."

She broke into wild, hysterical laughter. "That's rich! Like you _helped_ me last time? When you betrayed me to the enemy, and then came back to give matters a more _personal_ touch? I think I'll pass. So _try again!_" The sword dug harder into his throat, finally piercing the skin, and he could feel a drop of blood trickling slowly down. He swallowed and took great care to keep his hands well away from his own weapons.

_We don't want any misunderstandings right now, don't we?_

Still talking as calmly as he could, his eyes not leaving hers, he said: "You need me. You'll never make it into Luskan without me. And even if you did, you would not last a day. And you would stand no chance of getting near the goat girl, much less get her out alive. You _need_ me."

"You have spied on us?, she pressed through clenched teeth, her eyes still narrow slits, her face a mask of fury. "I just can't believe the _audacity_! Then again, why anything you do still amazes me is beyond my understanding. There's nothing so low you would not stoop to it, is there? And I need you like... well, like a dagger in my guts, I would say!" Her lips curled in a cold, deadly smile, her blade not wavering.

_Ouch. Touché._

_Go on__! Say something! You have to convince her!_

"Think!", he said to her. "How are you going to do it? You have no chance. But I know ways in and out of Luskan that have nothing to do with city gates. Secret ways. I still know people there. I can find a place to hide once inside the city. And maybe, provided you have the means, I can even find a way to get your goat girl out without you having to fight half of Luskan's prison guards. Think carefully, before you slit my throat. Because you might just kill your only chance of rescuing your little demon friend."

Her mouth was compressed into a tight line, her eyes still blazing with cold fury, but he could see that her mind had started working. She was thinking his words through. And since they were perfectly true, there would be only one conclusion she could reach.

"Damn it!" She looked angry enough that he started asking himself if he had not underestimated the measure of her rage at him – or overestimated the power of her urge to save the goat girl. But then the sword left his throat, and he could feel the tension in his shoulders ease a bit. This could easily have turned out quite differently.

She pointed her chin at him, her eyes falling to his mid body. "Take it off!"

"_What?"_He did not believe his ears.

"Your belt!", she gritted out between her teeth. "Take it off! Do you think I'm going to let you walk around with your hands free, so that you could stab anybody if you felt the sudden urge? Not very likely! And then we'll see what Casavir has to say to that brilliant little plan of yours."

A stab of pain shot through him as she mentioned the paladin's name, and his temper flared like kindling. "Oh, yes, let's ask our bright hero!", he sneered. "He still follows you like a puppy dog, I see. Does he know what you really are, bitch? Maybe I should tell him, tell him how you could not get out of your clothes quick enough to..."

The broad side of the sword connected with his jaw, hard, snapping his head back. "Watch your tongue, _Bishop_." She spat out his name, her voice so icy hell would have frozen over. He winced, repressing the urge to touch his smarting jaw. "If I were you, I would try _very_ carefully not to make me any more angry. And...", there was another flurry of motion of the sword, and he felt a sting in his cheek, blood trickling down, "...if you try anything _funny_", she continued, her voice still vibrating with cold hatred, "know that I'm _not_ going to kill you. I'm going to rearrange that pretty face of yours until no woman will ever fall for you again. And I'm going to _enjoy_ the task. Are we clear?"

"Crystal clear", he croaked.

_Smart move, boy, antagonis__ing her when she is itching to kill you anyway._

_Oh, shut up already._

xxx

Chantal followed Bishop, his hands securely tied up behind his back with his own belt, as he walked along the little stream, back to the camp. She watched him, sword still ready, hate burning in her stomach. She felt a surge of satisfaction, remembering how he had winced when she had fastened the belt around his wrists, pulling it tighter than strictly necessary, and then some. His hands must be numb by now, she surely had cut off his circulation, but he never complained. She watched as he slowly walked, head bent, looking defeated. Gods, how she would have loved to lop off his head. If only he had so much as _twitched_ while she had her sword at his throat...

But he had not, he had stood very still, not giving her the slightest excuse. Not that she needed one, she had every reason to end his wretched existence. Would have been a work of charity too, considering how much misery he spread wherever he went. Still, she could not do it, not in cold blood. Killing in battle was one thing, but this would have been different. It would have been stooping to his own level, and that was out of the question.

She took in his strong shoulders, now hunched, and the smooth line of his bowed neck. He really looked like hell, she thought. He had lost a lot of weight, his face gaunt, his eyes hollow and ringed by deep shadows. The stubble on his chin looked like it hat not seen a razor in days. Well, whatever happened to him served him right. He still walked and breathed, so he had fared much better then he deserved.

Watching him move with only a ghost of his usual catlike grace she could not help wondering what he was up to now. Why had he followed them? Why did he reveal his presence to her? He must have been very well aware of the risk that she would kill him on sight. And why did he offer – no, _insist_ to help? She did not believe for a second that concern for Neeshka's fate had anything to do with it.

In the end she could not keep still. She _had_ to ask. "Why? Tell me why", she said

He stopped walking, but kept his back to her, head down. "Why what?", he asked, his voice sounding defiant.

"Why everything! I just don't get you! Why are you here? Why are you offering help, if that's what you are really doing? Why? What is it you want?"

He stood very still, his eyes not leaving the ground. "None of your business", he said.

"No?", she asked, her voice sweet and soft and full of menace.

He finally turned, lifting his head. "No", he replied, meeting her eyes, unflinching. "But I won't turn on you this time. Is that enough?"

She held his gaze, cold threat in her eyes. "If you do, it will be the _last_ thing you do. Understand?"

He just shrugged. Her hands itched, wanting to hit him, but she just gritted her teeth and pointed ahead with her sword. "Go."

He did not move, only his eyes dropping to the ground again. "Why?", he asked her the same question, his voice low.

"Why what?", she asked icily, wondering if he was playing some kind of charade with her. He'd better not be.

"Why are you doing this? It's madness. If they catch you, your death will be more painful that anything even I could think up." She saw his lips curl derisively for a second, before his face went blank again. "So why? You should stay as far away from that place as possible."

She studied him for a moment, then answered with a sneer that rivalled his own: "Because Neeshka is a friend. I am well aware that this concept is utterly foreign to you", she continued snidely. "So I'm not even going to _try_ to explain its meaning. But if my friends are in need, I come for them." She paused, suddenly feeling some of the old pain again, and added: "I would have come for you too, once. Before you showed your true face. When I still believed in you." She could not help a note of sadness creeping into her voice and could have slapped herself for showing him even that small weakness.

But he only flinched as if struck and turned, continuing on his way without another word.


	8. Chapter 8 Homecoming

Casavir was starting to get worried. Chantal was taking her time. Maybe he should go and check on her? He'd never felt quite easy letting her out of his sight since he discovered Bishop at the inn, but he could not let her notice. Admittedly, he had not seen hair nor hide of the ranger since that memorable conversation at the Boar's Head. But that was not saying much. Bishop would not be seen if he did not want to.

_Maybe you should __really go and see if she is alright._

Battling with indecision, he started chewing on his nails. If he followed Chantal, it might create an... awkward situation. And she would be mad. She did not like to be treated like a damsel. And he would have to explain why he had been worried...

On the other hand, if the ranger was somewhere around, she could be in great danger. Casavir did not believe her capable of dealing with Bishop as necessary. She always had had a soft spot for the scoundrel, and she would probably hesitate. And maybe she was simply too shocked to react quick enough...

The last thought settled it. He would go and check. He could always say he was worried about Luskan scouts.

_Ve-ry elastic. _

_It's not a lie. I _am_ worried about Luskan scouts._

Oh yes, Neeshka would be so proud. Thinking of her sent a pang through his heart, but he shoved it to the side. First things first.

He got up, collected his weapons and started in the direction Chantal had walked. Just as he reached the edge of their camp, he heard footsteps ahead. He stopped, thinking with relief that she was coming back at last. He could not believe his eyes when he saw that cursed ranger coming round the bend. Of all the nerve! Casavir tightened his grip around his hammer. That did it. He was going to bash that bastard's skull in and hide the cadaver in the woods!

He strode forward, anger burning in him. "You son of a bitch, I _told_ you what would happen if you showed your face again! What did you do to her? This time, I really _am_ going to bash your brains out! Get your weapons and defend yourself!"

The ranger just lifted his head and shot him an ironic look. Then something was thrown from behind him, and two scimitars clattered to the ground. "You mean these?", Chantal's voice rang out.

Oh. And there also was the strange way Bishop kept his hands behind his back... like they were bound. And there was a nasty gash along his left cheek, and blood on his face... Casavir swallowed and looked up to Chantal, meeting her cold, steely stare. "And I have to say, you seem not altogether surprised to see him", she added, a chill in her voice.

"Well, I..." Casavir stuttered, trying to explain something that up to now had seemed perfectly logical to him.

The ranger smirked. "Well now, there something your sweetheart did not tell you, songbird? Maybe he was afraid..."

He broke off with a surprised yell as a vicious kick to the back of his knees threw him off his feet. Not being able to use his hands to break his fall, he landed heavily on the ground, face down. Ouch. Casavir involuntarily winced in sympathy.

"You can stop spreading your venom _now_, Bishop, because I'm done listening to you.", she hissed. "There might have been a time I was receptive for it, but now I know you for the nasty viper you are. So spare your breath, and spare my ears. Otherwise I might be tempted to remove your tongue."

The cold menace in her voice sent a shiver down Casavir's spine. He'd never seen her like this.

_So maybe I was wrong about her not being able to handle him._

Bishop lifted his head and spat out some dirt. Sand, grass, leaves and little stones clung to his face, sticking in the blood left by the gash. He shot her a look of pure fury, clenching his jaw so much that the muscles on his cheeks stood out, but did not utter any word.

"I..." Casavir started, but she stopped him with a motion of her hand, throwing him her sword instead. "Keep him in check", she ordered. "And you – don't move a muscle, understood?"

Casavir saw fire ignite in the eyes of the ranger, but Bishop just shrugged and looked down again. Chantal started rummaging in her backpack until she had found the length of rope she carried. She knelt down behind her captive and started to open the bounds on his wrists. Casavir saw a muscle twitching in Bishop's face. It probably hurt like hell as the blood started flowing again, but the ranger made no sound.

"Lie down on your side", came her commanding voice. Bishop growled, but did as he was told, and she swiftly and efficiently laid a noose around his neck, then tied his hands and feet together behind his back with the same rope. If he tried to wriggle out of the bonds, the ranger would risk strangling himself.

"If I were you, I would try not to move too much", she told him coldly. Then she looked at Casavir, pointing her head to the other edge of the camp. "Talk", she said, her voice equally cold.

Casavir followed her, nervous and confused. He did not know this cold, cruel woman she had turned into. He did not think he liked her.

_She probably is furious._

Well, that seemed to be a slight understatement. She stopped and turned to him, her eyes blazing with ice-cold fury, her face grim.

"Explain!", was all she said.

He swallowed. "I saw him at the inn. I did not want him to see you."

_I did not want you to see him._

"I was afraid he would try to hurt you again. So I chased him off. Or thought I did. As long as he thought you were dead, he was no danger to you."

"That worked well", she said acidly.

Casavir inhaled deeply, looking her in the eyes. "I am sorry for angering you, my lady. But I did what I thought best. I was trying to protect you, like I could not do last time. I did not want to fail you again. I might have erred in my way of handling things, but my intention was only to spare you pain."

She held his gaze defiantly for a moment, then her expression softened, and she sighed, her hand running through her tousled hair tiredly. "No, I am sorry for snapping at you like this. But you should have told me. To see him walking up to me, brazenly...", her voice broke, and he took a step and hugged her close.

"I'm sorry", he whispered. "It was exactly what I was trying to spare you."

Chantal leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, seeking solace. He had taken off his armour, and she could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt, felt the rippling of his strong muscles. She sighed inwardly. If only she could have loved him, things would have been so much easier.

But her heart had never stopped at the sight of Casavir the way it had stopped when she saw Bishop stepping out of the trees. The last light of the sun had glinted on his mahogany hair and reflected in his hazel eyes, and for a second, it was as if the last year had just been wiped away, and she only wanted to throw herself at him and breathe his scent again. Then it all came rushing back, and she felt fury rise, murderous fury, made worse by being partly directed at herself for her weakness.

And that fury had given her exactly the edge she needed for dealing with the traitor.

_And it kept the pain away._

Angry again with herself, she stepped back a bit and looked Casavir squarely in the eyes. "He's coming with us", she stated, matter-of-factly.

"_What?_", he exploded, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. "No way!"

"Yes, he is", she replied sharply. "He might be our only chance to rescue Neeshka. He might get us into Luskan unnoticed. He knows the city, we do not. And he has contacts, contrary to us. So we need his help. I won't risk Neeshka because of my pride. And neither would you. I know that. So get over it and don't argue."

He still stared, unbelieving, raising his voice in anger. "He might be _able_ to do that, but what _the hells_ does make you think he will? He'll just betray us again and hand us over to Luskan. There's probably a more than tempting reward on our heads! I'll not have it!"

Chantal flinched a bit at the unfamiliar sound of the paladin swearing. He must be _very_ upset. Well, no wonder.

She took a step towards him and took both his hands in hers, squeezing softly. "Please, think it through", she said, trying to sound reasonable. "He came to me, offering his help. He obviously eavesdropped on us, he knew everything. I did not want to listen to him, but I have to admit, his help might be our only chance."

"You might remember the way he _helped_ us last time?", Casavir asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

She met his gaze openly. "I remember very well, that's why he is trussed up nice and tight. But he's right, you know. We'll never make it even through the city gates. And he can get us in. I don't know why he offered, I'm sure he has a perfectly selfish reason. But we can't rescue Neeshka on our own. So I'll take the risk. I have to." She paused. "I would understand if you won't come with. But then I'll go with him alone. I owe it to Neeshka to do everything I can."

Casavir sighed in defeat. "Very well", he said, gloomily. "But have you considered that he might be the reason she is in trouble?"

She wrinkled her nose, thinking. "It might be", she admitted. "But then he still would be our best chance of finding her. Moreover, I don't really believe it. Neeshka's letter did not sound like something concerning Bishop. It sounded concerning Luskan guards. And Luskan guards is something Bishop has to be wary of, too. So no, I don't think he is responsible. That does not mean I trust him. But I have to go with him."

"As my lady commands", the paladin said, voice heavy with sorrow.


	9. Chapter 9 First Aid

Bishop lay on his side on the ground, still some dirt in his mouth, the cut in his cheek stinging nastily, his hands hurting like hell after his circulation started again, the rope choking him whenever he tried to get a bit more comfortable. But nothing hurt as much as the deep wounds his pride had taken in the last half hour.

_Tell me why I'm here again?_

_You wanted to save her life._

_Shows how much damage drinking all that foul stuff has already done to my brain._

Yes, brilliant idea, that. Lying on his side, watching the touching scene unfold before his eyes, with the quarrelling and reconciliation, and the hugging and the cuddling, fighting the urge to throttle them both, he wondered what had gotten into him.

_I'__m going to puke if I have to watch this any longer._

So he closed his eyes, trying to relax as much as possible in his uncomfortable position. He could not hear what they said, just a faint echo of their voices reaching his ears. Probably just as well. If he had been forced to listen to that dribble, it would _definitely_ make him puke. Best try to catch some sleep. He sure as hell felt tired.

Of course sleeping was impossible, his mind in turmoil, his emotions a riot, his muscles protesting at the unnatural position he was forced to keep, the hard ground, covered with stones and twigs, digging into him. But he stubbornly kept his eyes closed. He was _not_ going to watch.

After some time, he heard steps crunching up to him and stopping next to him, but he still did not open his eyes. A soft rustle, and someone knelt beside to him. Then water flowed over his face, dripping down his neck, and his eyes snapped open, his head reared back – nearly strangling himself in the noose still around his throat. He coughed, and tried to ease the pressure.

The ice bitch knelt before him, water skin in hand. "What the hells do you think you're doing?", he snapped.

"Trying to clean that wound!", she answered. "There's enough dirt clinging on it to grow vegetables on."

"Well, and whose fault is that? Just go to hell and leave me alone!"

There was a flash of anger in her eyes, but only for a moment. Then it was replaced by slight amusement.

"I promise it won't hurt", she said, primly.

"What? As if I care! I just don't want your paws on me, so get lost!"

Her lips twitched a bit. "Can't do that. The wound will inflame, and you might get ill. I need you, remember? So just shut up and let me do my job. I think I can refrain from touching you more then strictly necessary."

With that, she slipped behind him and started opening the knots of the rope. Relief coursed through him as his bonds loosened, and he even forgot to be angry. He gingerly stretched his arms and legs, not trying to hide his relief and not caring who saw. When his cramped muscles had relaxed enough, he sat up and started to massage his aching legs. Oh yes, this was so much better.

"Hold still", he heard her voice, originating quite near his face. He looked up and found her kneeling between his legs, sitting on her heels, water skin and cloth ready. Her face was so near...

He swallowed and closed his eyes again. Water trickled down his cheek, and tender fingers brushed the dirt away. He felt something tighten around his heart.

_Oh no, not again!_

But he could not help it, so he just kept his eyes closed, feeling her touch, trying to breathe evenly, to keep his face blank. Then the water and hand was replaced by the wet cloth, dabbing the last of the dirt out of the wound. It stung, and he inhaled sharply. There was the familiar scent, sweet and flowery...

He jerked his head away. "Enough already! Truss me up for the night, and then leave me in peace, will you?

He did not look into her face, and after a short pause she said evenly: "Very well. Lie down on your back, that will be a bit more comfortable. Tomorrow we will get your stuff, but today you will have to use some blankets of ours."

She pointed to some blankets on the ground, already spread out. Without another word he lay down, still not looking at her. He felt her hands again, tying him up, and he was covered by more blankets. Then the footsteps moved away.

Bishop lay still, trying to catch some sleep at last, but his mind would not stop racing for a long time.

xxx

After the discussion with Casavir, Chantal had returned to the camp. The paladin had stayed behind, wandering into the trees, head down. He obviously needed some time alone to think. Her eyes fell on Bishop, lying on his side, eyes closed. He looked beaten, and lost, and deceptively harmless and innocent. Though she knew very well how wrong that impression was, she could not help feeling a pang of... _something_. Probably some sort of errant mother instinct, she thought. He somehow looked like a boy, despite the wild stubble on his jaw and the deep shadows beneath his eyes.

There was so much dirt on his face, clinging to the blood. She had to clean that, otherwise it would get infected. He might even catch a fever and be useless to her. She could not risk that.

So she knelt down by his side. He did not open his eyes, but she knew he was awake. She could sense the tautness in his muscles. She splashed some water on the wound, and his eyes snapped open, his body tensing like some beast of prey, ready to pounce. Of course, that only made the rope around his neck tighten.

He coughed, and again she felt a stab of remorse about the way she had treated him. He was a murderous, traitorous bastard and deserved to die, but she had been deliberately cruel. He might have deserved that and much more, but acting this way was not like her at all. So what if she felt guilty for the way she had acted? It only showed that she was not as ruthless as he. He was the villain of the piece. She was supposed to be the good one. And the good ones had standards.

Which might have been the reason she did not simply grind his face into the dirt again when he started hurling insults at her. She just kept calm, what seemed to make him yet more furious. It even was kind of fun, goading him on like this. But still, she wondered. She had to admit that she did not understand him. At all. Why was he here? What did he want? Why did he suddenly revert to his usual scathing self again, after being so subdued before, and only because she tried to clean his wound? He had accepted her hitting him in the face with her sword, but trying to help him made him furious? She simply did not get him. He was a complete mystery.

Well, she was not interested in solving that particular mystery any more. He could keep his secrets, provided he really did help them to get Neeshka free. And for that, he had to be healthy. She had to get him to hold still, so she could clean that wound. Best to start with taking off his bonds.

It was a hazard, but she could not leave him lying like this much longer. It might start to do some real damage. She could not risk that. And, somehow, she did not think he would cause trouble right now, even if Casavir was not around. And even Bishop would take some time getting the full use of his limbs back after being bound for so long. So it probably was safe enough to give him some slack.

After she had taken off the rope, she watched him gingerly trying to move his arms and legs, and then slowly, very carefully bringing himself into a more natural position. It was clear how relieved he was to be able to move at last. He made a few hissing noises as he tried to sit up, and then sat, legs apart and bent, eyes closed, groaning slightly as he massaged his cramped calves.

She knelt between his spread legs, cloth in hand, to start working at the wound. She winced slightly as she regarded the nasty gash she had left on his cheek. That would probably leave a scar. Her eyes wandered a bit, taking in his face, so close to hers. Again, she noticed how tired he really looked, like he had been through a pretty rough time, and could not help feeling a tightness in her chest, and the urge to reach out and stroke his hair. She mentally kicked herself.

_Stupid bitch! You have learned your lesson, or not?_

She definitely had. No getting soft around Bishop. It was like trying to cuddle with a shark, and even more risky. So she just told him to hold still and started to work on cleaning the wound. His eyes opened for a moment, but he did not say anything, just closed them again, and did not move. She trailed her fingers over his cheek to help wash away the dirt. His eyelids twitched, but remained close. Her fingertips prickled, and it would be so easy to reach out and touch the soft hair, the smooth skin of his neck...

_No!_

She took her hand away, starting to use the cloth instead. That was better. No touching. But she must have hurt him with the rag, because suddenly he drew in a sharp breath, his eyes opening, jerking his head away, and he told her to stop in that special way he had. Oh yes, he surely was a charmer.

She complied, half relieved to get some distance, half disappointed for no obvious reason. She made him lie down on the blankets she had diverged for him, and bound him again, this time hands before his body. It was not as secure, but somehow she thought he really would not try anything. Then she covered him, and went to sit by the fire, her thoughts in a turmoil.


	10. Chapter 10 Down the Rabbithole

The next day found them trudging through the forest, in uncomfortable silence. The weather had changed, and rain was pouring down on their heads, very fitting to their subdued mood. The soggy ground squelched under their feet as they made their way through the woods, following no path Chantal or Casavir could discern.

They were following Bishop, who took the lead, head bowed, his hands tied up behind his back again. He had not spoken more than a handful of words the whole day. That suited Chantal just fine, she was not in a chatting mood either. And Casavir – well, he seemed to have relapsed into his old brooding self again.

_Oh yes, aren't we a merry band._

The thought nearly made her smile for the first time that day. The whole situation was just too absurd. Bishop, walking first, face impassive, not giving away anything. Then Casavir, insisting on going second, between her and the ranger, radiating gloom and mistrust, piercing Bishop's back with his angry stare. And her, following those two, caught between her hate for the treacherous bastard and the need to rescue Neeshka, having to convince Casavir of something she was not really convinced of herself.

How she loathed having to rely on Bishop! He was a double-faced, conniving poisonous viper, and you could not believe one word that left his lying mouth. What the gods was he intending? Nothing would ever make her believe he was trying to help. There had to be an ulterior motive, but she just could not think of anything, no matter how much she turned and twisted it in her mind. What did he have to gain?

He had risked his life by showing his face to her. He was not stupid, he had to know that. So if he wanted to give killing her another try, why not do it from a safe distance, using a nice poisoned arrow or something? He did not have to come near them for that. So it had to be something else.

He might be planning to betray them to Luskan, but she could not really believe that. The Luskans would see Bishop hang as well, even if he tried to get back into their good graces again by delivering Chantal and Casavir. Luskans were not known for their forgiveness, and Bishop would be taking a very big risk. He was not stupid enough for that either. Besides, Chantal thought, he hated Luskan too much to do anything for them, no matter the reward.

So why? What else could there be? He was facing a lot of discomfort, not to mention the risk to his life. And his pride had to hurt quite a bit, too, she thought, remembering the treatment he had received yesterday. Well earned, to be sure, but it still had to be hard for him to swallow. He must have a very good reason to endure all that. But she just could not think of one.

He did not even want to tell them where they were going. When she had asked him, he had thrown her an ironic look.

"Luskan", he just said laconically.

She had been ready to throttle him there and then.

"We better be", she answered icily. "Care to tell me how you are planning to get us in?"

"No", he just said, holding her threatening gaze defiantly.

She felt the urgent need to punch his face. Clenching her hands, she gritted out: "You better tell me."

He just shrugged and turned away. "Make me", he said.

Gods, how she would have enjoyed _making _him tell her. Preferably involving the use of several sharp implements. And a lot of screaming on his part.

_Again, you are the good one, you can't resort to torture, no matter how tempting the idea. _

Shame, really. But short of torture, she knew she would get nothing out of him, so she let it go, swallowing her helpless fury, because she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him rile her.

And now they were following him through the dripping forest, cold and wet, stumbling through the undergrowth, and they had no idea where he was leading them.

_Very bright idea, following him blindly._

It certainly was all kinds of stupid. But what choice did she have, really? Before Bishop came out of the woods, bold as brass, she had been at a total loss. How ever were they going to rescue Neeshka? She had not the slightest idea. She could not let Casavir see, of course, he was hanging on by a thread anyway. The thought of losing Neeshka was leaving him in despair, and knowing that Chantal did not believe they could get her out, he would have just given up. She thought he was ready to lie down and die, too, and she could not let that happen.

So she tried to appear optimistic, and chipper, and hoped he would not see through the charade. She did not believe she had been very convincing, despite her bardic training at _telling tales_, but Casavir was probably too involved in his misery to really pay attention. That still left her with the unsolved problem of city gates, guards and prisons, and Casavir was not going to be a big help, that much was clear.

So when Bishop made his outrageous suggestion, she had listened out of pure desperation. Whatever his motives, he was right: He was their one and only chance to do something for their friend. Having Bishop as your only chance was like jumping from a mountain and hoping a cloud would cushion your fall, but what else could she do? So she was laying all their lives in his hands. You'd have to laugh, really, if you weren't so busy muting your common sense that was screaming at your brain to start working already.

Her thoughts returned to the present when she walked into Casavir, his armour connecting painfully with her forehead. Rubbing her smarting skin she craned her neck around the paladin, searching for the reason for the holdup.

She saw Bishop standing in front of a ruined house. Obviously, the small hut had burned down some time ago, blackened timbers still sticking up in the air. She pushed at Casavir to get moving again and shoved him right up to Bishop, throwing the ranger a questioning glance.

He pointed his head at a crumbling well by his side.

_Oh, you__'ve got to be kidding me!_

Chantal stared at the derelict well in disbelieve. He could not want them to climb down there, couldn't he? Again, she gave him an inquiring look, but the smirk on his face told her enough.

_Yes, he could._

"No way I am going down there!", she said firmly.

He just shrugged. "Your call. If you want to save the demon girl, you'll do it. If not, you don't. I don't care either way." He threw back his soaked hood with a flick of his head, shaking himself like a dog, sending drops flying out of his wet hair.

"Now wait a moment", Casavir's rumbling voice sounded. "You can't expect us to…"

"I don't _expect_ you to do anything", Bishop interrupted scathingly. "I think I just made myself clear. Do what you will, I don't care. Just stop boring me with your indecision."

With that, he just turned his back on them. Chantal gave Casavir a helpless glance. His face looked like thunder. He obviously was not happy as well.

Chantal's mind worked feverishly. This just reeked of a trap! Who knew what was waiting for them down there? Had Bishop really led them here to hand them over to their enemies? Or was he planning something else as soon as he had them down there, at his mercy? If they climbed down the well, she would have to free his hands, no telling what he might do then…

She drew a deep breath, steeling herself for Casavir's reaction. "We'll do it", she said.

"What?", the paladin exploded, as she had expected. "You can't be serious!"

She put a hand on his arm, trying to calm him. "Bishop's right", she said. "We did not come this far just to turn back now. We have no choice and he knows it, so why pretend? If we want to help Neeshka, we'll have to go down there. So we'll go. As simple as that. I know we can't trust him, in fact I would prefer to push him down that well and just leave him to die, but unfortunately that is out of the question."

"He is standing right here, you know?", Bishop remarked, acidly.

"I know", she said sweetly, turning to him. "Hold still", she ordered, and started untying the rope around his wrists.

When his hands were free, Bishop could not repress a sigh of relief as he loosened his cramped shoulders and started to massage the feeling back into his fingers. Chantal threw a pleading look at Casavir, who ran his hands through his hair tiredly and just said: "Very well."

"Down boy, sit.", Bishop said under his breath.

Chantal threw him a withering glance, which unfortunately was lost, since he still had his back to her. "Stow it, Bishop", she said.

Finally he turned around, his amber eyes meeting her squarely for the first time this day. She could see the challenge in them.

"Does he play dead, too?", he asked.

Chantal met his gaze, her eyes promising murder. And, wonders over wonders, the ranger shut up. Chantal sighed. Thank the gods for small favours. The last thing she needed was having to keep Casavir from Bishop's throat right now.

She glanced at Casavir, his face still stormy, and hoped he would show that famous paladin restraint, keeping his anger in check. Then she stepped nearer to Bishop, so her words would be for his ears alone, and said quietly:

"Please? At least, tell me what's down there." Maybe asking nicely would get her where threats obviously could not.

Bishop looked into her face. But instead of the expected contempt he saw only an earnest plea in her eyes. Maybe it was the word "please", but somehow he felt compelled to answer her.

He turned his gaze away again and shrugged. "Tunnels, sewers", he said gruffly. "Sunken city. Hordes of undead. And an entry to Luskan." He gave her a short glance, and saw her eyes were on his face, searchingly, and they still showed nothing of the fury and hate he had seen in them before. Something softened in him. "It's no trap", he added, looking away quickly before she could read his expression.

"It better not be", she said, still in that quiet, serious tone of voice. "Because, Bishop – if it is, no matter what is waiting down there, I will find a way to get to you before it gets to us. Keep that in mind."

Somehow, maybe because it was said without anger, only matter-of-factly, in that quiet, calm voice, it was much more threatening than the ranting she had given him yesterday. He sure hoped that nothing was down there – you never knew what wandered these tunnels. If something was there, he probably would get no real chance to explain.

He only gave a short nod in acknowledgement. They would find out soon enough.

Chantal drew a deep breath. "Fine", she said. "Let's get going." She nodded at Bishop. "You go first."

"You can't seriously…", Casavir broke in again, but she silenced him with a look.

"We've been through that already", she said, suddenly feeling tired. Travelling with these two was like trying to juggle cats and dogs simultaneously. "He goes first. I know it's risky, but it still beats having him in our backs while climbing down."

Bishop just gave a snort and took the rope she had used on him out of her hands. "We better use this", he said. "There are spurs in the wall, but they have been there for some time and I don't trust them completely. And they will be slippery in this wet weather."

"I'm not leaving this rope here", she said, looking firmly into his eyes. "And I'm following you closely on your way down."

He sneered. "Suit yourself. Just don't blame me if you break every bone in your body."

Chantal turned to the paladin. "You will stay up here until I reach the bottom and tell you it's clear."

Casavir's blue eyes searched hers imploringly. "Please, at least let me go down first."

She shook her head. "No, Casavir. This is a risk I'll only take personally. It was my decision to follow him, so I will take the consequences. If…", she paused, "if something happens, don't come down after me, you hear? This is an order! You will turn back and find a way to help Neeshka without me. Understood?"

He swallowed and nodded, his eyes sorrowed. "Yes, my lady."

She gave him a short hug. Behind her, Bishop snorted again.

"Can we just cut the theatrics and get going already?", he said.

She turned and looked down the well, the first spurs clear to see. "Did you put them here?", she asked.

But he just wordlessly swung his legs over the edge of the well and started to climb down, not looking back. Obviously, his short bout of openness was at an end. Chantal steeled herself and followed, close behind.

_Well, here goes nothing._

xxx

Bishop climbed down the slippery spurs very carefully, testing each thoroughly before putting his weight on it. He left them many years ago, when he needed a secure route in and out of the city. They might have gone brittle. And the crumbling walls of the well did not add to safety, either.

His stomach was still churning after the touching scene he had just witnessed. First, she talked about him as if he were not even there, then she played some woeful piece of farewell to the paladin. Made him want to slap her face.

_Y__ou can't blame her for expecting the worst, can you?_

Well, he hoped she fell and broke her neck. Would serve her right.

He arrived at the bottom of the well, where to his relief nothing else moved, took a step back and looked up. She had fallen behind a bit, not as used to this climbing as he was. He saw her take her eyes off the spurs, to peer down at him…

_No! Don't look__ down! Concentrate on what you're doing!_

…when the spur she was holding on to broke out of the wall, and she slipped, and with a surprised cry she fell.

_No!_

Without thinking, he jumped, reached out and caught her in his arms, the impact throwing him back against the wall of the tunnel. Instinctively, his arms closed tightly around her, her weight crushing against his chest, driving the air out of his lungs. He stood, gasping, eyes closed, shock coursing through him and making his knees weak, still holding on tight.

Then he opened his eyes, and looked into her face. Her eyes were wide, shocked, her face pale, her lips opened slightly, her breath coming in gasps. He stared into her eyes, could not look away, and somehow everything around him seemed to fade. His deadly grip loosened, and one of his hands moved, wanting to touch her hair, to make sure she was all right…

"My lady?", the paladin's anxious voice came down the well. "Are you well?"

Bishop practically shoved her away, into the opposite wall. "Better say something", he sneered. "Before he suspects I was trying to murder you."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at her defiantly. She held his gaze, the shock still visible on her face.

"I'm fine, Casavir", she called, her voice not yet steady. "I slipped and fell." After a nearly unnoticeable pause, she added: "Bishop caught me." Her eyes still were on his.

"Reflex. Could not help it", he muttered, looking away.

_What had she seen on his face? _

He felt a surge of panic. What had there been for her to see?

"I'm coming down!", the paladin's voice sounded out from above, followed by some clattering noises when he climbed over the edge of the well in full armour.

_Well, I sure as hell am not catching _him_ if he falls!_

He arranged his face into his usual scowl. "I hope he is not as clumsy as you are, _my lady_. If so, you can catch him yourself if he is stupid enough to climb in all that metal."

She gave him a last searching glance, then she reverted her attention to the paladin. "Take it slow, Casavir", she called. "The spurs gave out under me, and I don't carry as much weight around with me as you do. Test each one carefully."

Bishop leaned against the wall, arms still crossed over his chest, staring into the dark tunnel ahead, while the paladin took his time clattering down the well.

_I have to be more careful. Have to keep my distance. Or it will all happen again._

_Should have known it was a bad idea, helping them._

Well, he had known. Had to do it nonetheless. The thought of those Luskan dogs getting their paws on her was just too much. He knew too well what they would do. Quickly, he shoved the image away before the pain could hit.

But he just could not let that happen to her.

_She's getting to you again._

It was true. He could not help it. What _was_ it with her? He just did not understand.

_Maybe you don't need to._

True. The why was not really important, wasn't it? The important thing was to get away. Get it over with this idiotic rescue mission, and if he somehow survived this, he would simply run. Far, far away. Get as much space between them as he could.

_I'm sure they have some really bad booze in Calimshan or __wherever, too._

Yes. That's what he would do. Maybe the distance would achieve what killing her could not.

Somehow relieved, now that he had made up his mind, he realised that the paladin had reached the bottom of the well. And that the ice queen was standing in front of him, the blasted rope in her hands.

"You're joking, right?", he asked, eyebrows arched. She just looked at him.

"Look", he said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible while clenching his jaw, "I _told_ you there are hordes of undead ahead. Don't you think it would be better if I could _defend_ myself?"

She still looked at him, rope in hand, waiting. He bit back a curse. "This is ridiculous. What's more, it's dangerous down here. I'm not letting you tie me up."

She shrugged. "And you will stop me how? As long as you don't tell me what you're up to, I'll bind your hands. I'm not taking more risks having you around than absolutely necessary."

He scowled at her. "I should just vanish into those tunnels and leave you to starve down there".

She smiled sweetly. "Tell me why you don't? I remember asking that since you turned up so helpful all of a sudden."

He growled and turned his back on her, hands behind him. "Do your worst", he said coldly. "But remember, if I die, chances of you finding your way out of here again are very slim indeed."


	11. Chapter 11 Resolutions

Casavir had climbed down the slippery walls with caution. If the spurs had given out under Chantal's weight, he really had to be careful. So he tested every spur more then once before putting his weight on it, leaving out some that seemed not safe. It made for an awkward, slow descent, but it was better than falling.

He exhaled in relief when he reached the bottom of the well. Strangely enough, there was no welcoming party waiting for them. Casavir had been more than half convinced it would be a trap. But nothing was here except for them. He frowned as he listened to the other two talking. What were they on about? _Undead? _Casavir watched as Chantal bound the hands of the ranger again, not believing his ears.

"Is there something I should know about that _safe_ passage into Luskan?", he asked.

Chantal did not look up from her task. "Obviously there is a sunken city ahead through which we can gain access into Luskan. Bishop says there's undead around."

"Wonderful", Casavir said caustically. "So we exchanged Luskan guards for armies of undead. Yes, that makes sense."

Bishop shot him a dark look over his shoulder. "Yes, it does. _Try_ to think for once? I've heard rumours that even paladins had brains. You might want to consider using it sometimes." He snorted and turned away.

Casavir gripped the hilt of his hammer. "Watch your tongue, dog, or I'll..."

"Casavir." Chantal's hand was on his, holding it down. "Please. Don't let him rile you. And it's true. Even if we have to battle some undead, that will not cause alarm in Luskan. If we had to battle their guards, it would. I don't like this any better than you, but it's still the only way in I can see."

Casavir sighed in defeat, running his free hand through his hair. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

Chantal smiled at him in thanks, and turned to Bishop again. "Lead the way."

The ranger turned to her, studying her face impassively, but there was something in his eyes Casavir did not like at all. Then he said in a carefully neutral voice: "I'm going to take the long way round, so don't wonder. It will take more time, but we will meet less of the... inhabitants this way. Some of them are very unpleasant, so we better avoid them. The short way would lead directly through the city, and you would not want that, believe me."

Chantal nodded, and the ranger turned and started down the tunnel. Casavir held Chantal back by laying a hand on her shoulder and moved to walk behind Bishop, ignoring her irritated glance. He felt better if something stood between those two. His hand freed his hammer out of his belt, and he also readied his shield. Better to be prepared – you never knew what would jump out of the darkness in tunnels like this.

_Especiall__y if you have that wretched ranger in front of you._

All his instincts revolted against following Bishop like sheep to the slaughter. There was just no telling what the bastard might be up to.

_Nothing good, that much is certain._

Bishop would never change. Men like him just didn't. And they never helped anyone without getting something out of it as well. So, provided one believed for a split second that he _was_ helping instead of leading them into a trap, what did he have to gain?

_Chantal._

Casavir's lips compressed into a thin line.

_Over my dead body._

It was the only thing that made sense. What else could Bishop be after? But why? To try and kill her once more? Unlikely. He did not have to take the risk of confronting them directly for that. Or, if he wanted to watch her face while she died again – why had he waited, instead of simply attacking her while she was alone at the brook? No, it had to be something else.

He watched the back of the ranger as they marched along the wet, slimy corridor, resentment burning in him. He knew he should not feel hate, but he could not help it.

_Has he really... touched her like that?_

The thought of Chantal in Bishop's arms made him sick. How could she let that worthless excuse for a human being touch her? With those filthy, murderous hands? Had she let him kiss her? That dirty, lying mouth on her soft lips? Her skin? He felt nausea rise in him as he could not help but imagine. And now, had the bastard come back for a second helping? And after he had gotten what he came for? What would he do then? The same thing as last time?

_No. Not this time. __I will not let her down again._

Chantal was right with one thing. As long as there was the slightest chance it might help them to rescue Neeshka, Casavir would put up with the presence of the ranger, even if went against every shred of common sense. For Neeshka, he would do anything. Even risk being led into a trap by Bishop.

But afterwards, he would kill him.

It was simple, really. He would never allow the bastard to hurt Chantal again. And the only way to make sure that did not happen was to have him dead. Casavir had sworn to uphold the law, to fight for the forces of good. Murder went against everything he believed in.

He did not care anymore.

He had broken his vows before. He would do it again. What he had in mind would surely cause him to fall. He would no longer be a paladin. But he did not care. He would protect Chantal as he could not last time.

If that meant turning into the likes of Bishop, so be it.

xxx

Chantal followed the two men through the musty corridor.

_It's all repeating._

She pressed her lips together. It sure seemed like the past was catching up quickly. Already Casavir was getting protective again. And she... no, she did not want to dwell on her feelings, finding herself in Bishop's arms after her fall. Of course, she had been shocked, and shaken from the fright the fall had given her... but she also had been very aware of his strong arms holding her, and his amber eyes staring into hers. His warmth, his scent...

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

It certainly was. She really wanted to slap herself. After all he had done to her... She should feel only revulsion towards him. But she could not lie to herself enough to convince her that the feelings she had had anything to do with revulsion. When he first appeared out of the woods... she had been furious. And that fury had helped a lot. But now... well, you could only be furious for so long. And after the anger had dwindled, somehow she...

Admittedly, he _was_ attractive, and she had been living like a nun the last year. Yes, that was the explanation. As soon as they were out of this mess, she would find a goodlooking, _nice_ man...

_Oh__, sure._

She groaned inwardly. This was so not good. What in all the hells had possessed that cursed man to come back and make her life complicated again? It had been so easy for the last months...

After defeating the King of Shadows, she still had felt like an empty shell. Maybe even more so than before, because now, there was not even duty left to keep her going. She had forced herself to go on, make it look like she was all right again, talking to the others, even laughing with the others, but inside she still felt like the wound had never closed.

The wound he had given her. Somehow, his dagger had cut so much more than her body. His betrayal had cut right through her soul. And while they had healed her body and made it breathe again, so she could go on with the task they had thrown at her, the gods somehow seemed to find it less important to heal her soul. And she could feel that wound still festering.

Because she still missed him. It just was not enough to know he never had been the man she thought she saw in him. She still longed for the dream image she had created. The feeling just would not go away.

She could not return to Neverwinter. She could not return to the keep. The thought of the demands that would be made on her again scared her. She just did not feel she was up to that. She longed for quiet, for solitude, for time to think, time to heal.

So she did not go back. The common belief was that the Knight Captain had died during the battle with the King of Shadows. Nasher knew, of course. He had accepted her decision. Well, why wouldn't he? She had answered her purpose. He probably was glad to be rid of her so easily. She did not care. The only thing important to her was that he had accepted, and that he had agreed to declare her dead.

She had gone back to the Mere. It soothed her to be close to the land of her childhood again. Well, not too close, of course, that would have been painful, too – but close enough. The only ones who knew where to find her were her friends. And they visited frequently. And with time, she felt the festering wound in her closing. She could find joy in the little things of life again. She laughed with her friends, and it was not the forced laugh of before. She watched Casavir and Neeshka and was genuinely happy for them. She shoved the image of a certain ranger deep, deep down into a dark drawer and kept it closed. She thought she was over him.

And now, she could feel the wound opening again.

Just like that. Having him close, hearing his voice that still made her shiver, having to look into his face, those eyes... it was enough. Enough to make her feel the pain again.

_No! __I won't allow it!_

Damn right. She was prepared this time. She knew what to expect from him. And she would not let it happen again. She would keep her distance. And as soon as they had Neeshka in safety, she would get rid of him. Some way or the other.

Could she hand him over to Neverwinter to be tried, if he really helped them getting Neeshka out? Probably not, if she was honest to herself. Only if he left her no choice. But she would send him away. And if he did not leave... well, she would. And once she was away from him, she would be happy again. Problem solved.

_Sure._


	12. Chapter 12 The Long and Winding Road

"So, this is the way where we only encounter a _few_ of the denizens of this charming city?", Chantal yelled while trying to defend herself against three corpses at the same time. Why did some people simply not have the grace to stay down once they were dead? She _hated_ undead. They were tough, took a lot of damage before going down, and they were impossible to drive into retreat.

_Plus, they st__ink._

"Whatever are _you_ complaining about?", Bishop shouted back. Chantal risked a short glance and saw him leaning with his back on the wall, trying to hold off two undead by kicking them into the chest with his foot.

Some steps away was Casavir, holding up his holy symbol of Tyr, radiating a glaring white light, calling out to his god to destroy their enemies. As the white light reached Chantal, two of her foes crumbled to dust. Relieved, she brought her sword down on the third one. It hissed as the blade cut into its unnatural flesh and lunged for her. Chantal felt the claws digging painfully into her skin, piercing the chains of her armour. She jumped back one step, swinging her weapon in a wide arc. It connected with a heavy thump, nearly cutting the undead in half. It crumbled on the floor. Chantal did not waste time on checking if it still moved.

_Have to get to Bishop._

With his hands bound on his back, he was helpless – and they could not risk losing him. They had wandered through endless, twisting tunnels, branching off countless times. She had totally lost any orientation. Without the ranger, they would almost certainly never find a way out of here again. She only hoped he knew his way around here as well as it seemed. She nearly could not believe he was not lost, too – but he had never once hesitated when reaching a junction.

To her right, she heard a cracking sound as Casavir's hammer connected with an undead skull. Another creature crumbled to the ground, but there were still more coming. And Bishop...

Her heart stopped when she turned to him. One of the undead was gone, probably thanks to Casavir's turning, but the other one was on him now. Obviously having dodged the ranger's kicks, it had buried its claws in his arms – and its teeth in his throat. With the enemy so close, Bishop could do nothing without his hands. Chantal saw him trying to buck off the shambling corpse, but already his movements were getting weak.

_No! We _need_ him! _

She rushed the distance. Not daring to attack with her sword because she might hurt Bishop as well, she gave the creature a vicious kick to the side. It stumbled away a few steps and turned to her with a hissing noise. Yelling, she threw herself against it and drove the blade home. With one fierce strike, she sent the head flying, cleanly cut off the torso.

She turned to Bishop again, saw him sinking down the wall, his face pallid under the perpetual stubble, his chest rising and falling visibly, his eyes wide and already slightly glassy as he stared at her, blood flowing freely from a nasty wound in his throat.

_This looks bad..._

Movement caught her eye. Still more of these blasted undead! Did they _grow_ them down here? She stepped in their path to keep them from reaching Bishop, shooting him one last worried glance.

_Hang __in there!_

Again she swung her sword, but there were so many... she could not bind them all. Already some were sidestepping her, trying to get to the helpless quarry behind her that smelled so enticingly of blood. Desperately, she tried to keep them away, but it was of no use, they were just too many. Several more claws found their way through her armour, since instead of concentrating on defending herself, she was rather throwing herself in harms way to distract them from Bishop. She gritted her teeth against the pain, hitting another one with her sword, but it just hissed and kept coming. Desperation rose in her. She would never be able to keep them at bay. And if Bishop died...

A glaring white light illuminated the area again, and most of the creatures surrounding her fell. For a split second, she closed her eyes in relief and sent a very short prayer of thanks to the gods. Then, with renewed vigour, she threw herself against the remaining undead, screaming at the top of her lungs without noticing it. Under the relentless blows of her sword, one after the other fell.

Her breath coming in gasps, she wildly looked around, but the number of foes seemed to have dwindled remarkably. Casavir was just finishing off the last, his blue eyes blazing, his hammer mercilessly shattering bones. Chantal turned on her heels and hurried back to Bishop.

He was sitting against the wall, deathly pale, the red gash on his cheek standing out starkly in contrast, his eyes closed, his breath shallow, the wound on his neck still bleeding.

_Don't you dare die on me!_

She dropped to her knees beside him, sword clattering to the ground, her hand fumbling for a healing potion in her belt. She drew the cork with her teeth while letting go of her shield as well. Her hand reached behind his head, gripping his neck, drawing him a bit away from the wall, so that his head fell back lightly. His eyes were still closed. Was he unconscious? She could not tell. She brought the vial against his lips and slowly let the liquid run into his mouth. To her immense relief, he swallowed.

_Good boy!_

After a moment, a bit of colour returned to his pale cheeks, and he opened his eyes. They glittered feverishly, but the bleeding had lessened, and his breathing had steadied a bit. Still, he looked ready to drop.

"Casavir", she yelled, without taking her eyes off Bishop's face.

"Worried... about me?", he whispered coarsely. With the last word, he coughed, some blood showing on his lips, and his eyes closed again.

She realised she still had her hand in his neck.

_His hair is so soft..._

A boot appeared in her field of sight, and she looked up at Casavir looming over them.

"Do something! He's dying!", she said, forcefully.

He did not move, just stood staring down at them.

"Casavir!"

There was another moment of hesitation, then the paladin knelt down beside her, quietly murmuring a prayer. A soft, warm light surrounded his hands, and he touched the wound on Bishop's throat. The glow seemed to flow into the ranger, and Chantal saw the wound closing, the flesh knitting itself together, the blood flow finally stopping.

Bishop opened his eyes again, coughing, slowly sitting up, drawing deep breaths. "Well, that sure was close", he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Chantal hastily took her hand away from his neck, putting it on Casavir's arm instead. "Thank you", she said softly.

His expression was dark. "Don't thank me", he said. "I have sworn to protect and help the innocent. He does not qualify. I only did it because you are right, we need him for this."

Bishop gave the paladin a wry look. "Why now, are you telling me you won't include me in your nightly prayers? That hurts."

Chantal sighed and got up. Bishop obviously felt better.

xxx

Bishop stopped, throwing them a warning glance over his shoulder.

"Careful, now", he whispered, his voice so low Chantal could barely hear it. She peered past him and saw a gigantic cavern, very dimly illuminated by some greenish glow. There was just no telling how big it might be. She could perceive the outline of jumbled houses, some half collapsed, walls bent, roofs warped, as far as the eye could see in what passed for light down here. Nothing seemed to move.

Bishop pointed his head back into the tunnel they had come from, and they retreated a bit. As soon as they were away, he started talking again, his voice still in a whisper.

"Put out the torch. It only will draw them to us. And we can't make any noise." He eyed Casavir's plate mail. "You might want to take that off."

"What?" Casavir's voice was also down to a whisper, but still managed to sound indignant. "I'm not going in there without armour!"

"Oh, is that so? Well, let me tell you..."

Chantal rolled her eyes and started muttering some words under her breath. Suddenly, everything went wonderfully quiet. She saw Bishop's lips still moving, but no sound was coming out. He stopped talking and gave her a murderous glance. She smiled. Sometimes it was so good to be a bard...

_Lead the way_, she mouthed and pointed back to the cavern. She saw him spit out a word that certainly was not fit for a lady's ears. Then he turned and marched back to the cavern. Chantal and Casavir followed on his heels.

In the silence of Chantal's spell they crept along the edge of the sunken city, keeping as close to the cavern wall as possible. The complete soundlessness somehow added to the already creepy atmosphere. From time to time, Chantal thought she saw shadows move between the broken buildings, sometimes even behind windows. Her heart was beating painfully fast. She had to admit that she was more afraid than she had been for a long time. This place was just too scary. She really was glad Bishop had not chosen the _short_ way.

_All for Neeshka._

Oh yes, she would have a word or two with the tiefling after they were safely out of Luskan. It was true, if her friends were in danger, she came for them. That did not mean she would not give them a piece of her mind when the danger was over.

They kept going for a seemingly endless time. Once, Chantal had to renew the spell since it expired. She did so quickly, before her two companions could start going at each other again. She would not put it past them to pick a quarrel right here and draw every undead around to them with their bickering. Even Casavir, normally so level headed, could not be counted on to stay focussed, he just hated Bishop too much.

_Men…_

Well, there surely was a time to tell Bishop what they thought of this safe passage of his, but this was not it. Not before they were out of this horrible place. She had to admit, though, that with the exception of that one hard battle they only had some minor skirmishes with a few undead who were quickly dispatched.

Ahead, she could see Bishop pausing and turning back, waiting for them to catch up. When she walked up to him, she saw a small archway in the cavern wall. Behind it, in what little of the greenish glow reached through the arch, she could see a narrow spiral staircase leading up. She gave him a questioning glance, but he just turned, went through the doorway and climbed up a few steps, stopping again and giving her a meaningful look in the near dark. Casavir quickly moved to impose himself between her and the ranger. Chantal rolled her eyes. This was really getting ridiculous.

She followed Casavir as far as possible up the stairs, sat down her backpack, got out a torch and looked at Bishop. He nodded, so she lit the torch and in the flickering light, they started to ascend. Endlessly, the stairwell seemed to go round and round. Now and then, other tunnels lead away from it into the darkness, but Bishop just kept climbing. After a while, the sound of their shuffling feet and her own heavy breathing told Chantal that her spell had expired again. But none of them said a word.

Then, when she thought she would just drop if she had to climb one more step, Bishop stopped in front of what seemed to be a blank wall. Without the slightest hesitation, he turned his back to the wall and pressed one stone in with his still bound hands. Chantal heard a clicking sound, and the wall started to move.

A blast of fresh air hit her face, and she inhaled deeply, only now realising how stale the air in the tunnels had been. Bishop went through the now open doorway without turning back to see if they followed him. Casavir stopped and carefully peered out of the doorway before stepping outside. Chantal followed him, leaving the gloomy staircase with a feeling of immense relief. Behind her, she could hear a rumbling as the door closed again. She turned and saw only a blank wall. She would never have suspected a secret door in it.

Taking in her surroundings, she saw crumbling ruins all around her, overgrown with all sorts of lichen, moss and twines. Nothing seemed to move, no sound was to be heard. Above her, the night sky was bright with stars. What place was this?

She turned to Bishop, frowning.

"Where are we? This does not look like Luskan. Or any inhabitated city!"

He shrugged. "Ruins of Illusk. Right in the middle of Luskan. No one ever comes here. They say the place is cursed. It's forbidden to enter, so we won't encounter any townsfolk here, not even guards. Of course, these ruins have their own… inhabitants, and sometimes meeting them is not fun, either. But they mostly tend to stay underground, so normally it's quite safe."

Wow. That sure was the longest speech she had heard from him since… well, ever. How come he was so talkative all of a sudden?

_Best make use of it as long as it lasts._

"Sounds charming", she said sarcastically. Casavir only snorted. Obviously he was not in a good mood. Well, what else was new?

"So, what do we do now?", she asked.

Bishop looked at her, his eyes unreadable in the dark. "First, you put out that torch again. Second, you release my hands. Third, I go into town and see if I can reach any of my… acquaintances."

Chantal nearly laughed. "You wish!", she said. "I'm not letting you go into Luskan alone. Gods know what you are up to. I'm coming with you to keep an eye on you."

"You mean, _we_ are going with him", Casavir rumbled.

She turned and looked at him. "No", she said, earnestly. "I mean _I_ am going with him. You will stay behind. We must not attract any attention, and two people are less suspicious than a group of three. Besides, you are not exactly the sneaky type. And if anything happens, if Bishop and me get caught, there's still a chance you will find a way to do anything for Neeshka. If they get us both, she will be lost."

Casavir murmured something unintelligible, but it did not sound happy. Chantal turned back to Bishop, who regarded her with his usual sneer.

"Please yourself", he said. "I can't vouch for any of my contacts to be willing to talk with you around."

"Oh, no worries", she replied sweetly. "If they trust _you_ enough to talk to you, they can't be the suspicious sort."

She heard Casavir make a choking noise. Bishop just shot her a deadly glare, turned on his heels and started walking.


	13. Chapter 13 Flight Instinct

After a couple of minutes, Bishop entered a small building that seemed to be in fairly good repair. They followed him in and found something that looked like a cot, and the remnants of several old fires. Chantal went to Bishop and started to release the bonds on his wrists. She could see his shoulders tensing, but he just stood until the rope fell away. Then he tentatively flexed his fingers and threw his backpack into a corner, his movements erratic, telling her how angry he was.

_Well, and don't I feel sorry for that?_

She suppressed a snicker. Provoking Bishop sure was fun. He turned to face her, and she managed to put on a neutral face just in time.

"Well, then", he sneered. "You can start getting rid of all that beautiful stuff you're carrying around, because we're going unarmed and unarmoured."

"What?", she asked, her amusement wiped away. "That's suicide!"

"No", he answered smugly, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "Going armed would be suicide. It would sure as hell draw the attention of any patrol we encounter. And as you said yourself, that's not what we want. So we're going to look as harmless as possible. No gleaming swords, no armour."

With that, he started opening the straps of his leathers. Chantal saw Casavir open his mouth, and judging from his expression, what he had to say was not flattering. She just held his gaze wordlessly, put down her backpack and started taking off her weapons. The paladin, seeing the resolve in her face, swallowed whatever he wanted to say, sighing. When she pulled the chain shirt over her head, Casavir came walking up to her.

"I don't like this", he said, so low probably only she could hear. "Please, at least let me go with him."

She smiled up to him. "You would not reach the next corner without going for each other's throat. We really can't risk drawing attention to us. So, it's me going. Plus, if I let something happen to you, Neeshka will have my head on a platter."

He smiled sadly. "She would have mine, too, if I let something happen to _you_."

She touched his face. "Seems like one of us has to face Neeshka's wrath. I prefer that to be you." With another smile she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. His arms closed around her, holding her tight.

"Take care", he whispered. "And please, bring her back."

"I will", she said, hugging him shortly, then stepping back. Turning around, she saw Bishop looking at them with a glint in his eyes.

"How touching", he said caustically. He knelt down beside the old ashes, taking out a handful. "Come over, princess", he mocked. "Time to spruce you up a bit."

Chantal watched while he started rubbing the ashes into his hair. "What are you doing?", she asked.

He shot her an ironic stare. "Forgot my wig", he said. "What does it look like? You better do the same, these white bangs of yours are like a beacon."

_What I would not do for a friend… Neeshka is going to pay dearly for this._

She reluctantly moved forward, crouching down besides Bishop, and took a handful of the ashes as well, disgust plain on her face. She eyed the soot in her hands with misgivings and could not bring herself to smear the stuff onto her head.

She heard him give a little laugh and turned to look at his face, surprised at the unfamiliar sound. His eyes met hers, and there was a smile in them. "Princess", he said again, took some more ashes, reached out and ran his blackened fingers through her hair. She crunched up her nose, and the corners of his mouth tilted upwards, his finger running over her cheek, leaving a sooty trail. Her skin tingled with his touch. She stared at him, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and her breath caught in her throat. Was this a glimpse of the man she once thought he was?

_W__hy does my heart beat so fast?_

His hand stopped in mid-motion, the smile vanishing out of his eyes, replaced by an intensity that made her shiver. They sat, motionless, staring at each other…

Casavir's backpack clattered forcefully to the ground. They both flinched. Chantal looked away quickly, colour rising to her cheeks, and started rubbing the ghastly ashes into her hair vigorously. Beside her, Bishop got to his feet and retreated a few steps, turning to stare out of the open doorway into the night.

After she finished blackening her hair with trembling hands, Chantal got up and cleaned her dirty fingers as much as possible with water from her water skin. She still felt shaken from what had happened.

_Well, tell me. What _has_ happened?_

She had no idea. Suddenly, tension had been thick, and her heart raced, and Bishop's eyes stared into hers…

_Got to__ be more careful. Keep away from him._

Oh yes. Far, far away. Had Casavir noticed?

_D__uh. No, his backpack just slipped._

She felt shame rising in her in a sickening wave. What was wrong with her? How could she react like this? And now, Casavir had seen, too. She did not dare to consider what he must think of her. At least, it could not be worse than what she thought of her herself.

_There's a comfort._

She had to get away from Bishop. So she had to get this over with, free Neeshka and get out of this cursed city. And then she hoped she would never have to see the ranger's face again. Resolutely, she turned to her backpack and started rummaging through its contents.

xxx

Casavir watched Chantal going through her backpack, sorting out the things she would take with her. His heart was heavy, thinking of the scene he had just witnessed.

_The way he looked at her…_

In the paladin's mind, there was no doubt anymore why the ranger was here. The good news was that this meant it was presumably no trap. It made it a bit easier to let her go into Luskan with Bishop alone. He would probably not hurt her, not before he had what he came for. The bad news was that Casavir feared Chantal was falling for the bastard again.

_Why? What is it with him?_

Casavir just could not understand. Bishop was an evil, unfeeling, ruthless, unscrupulous, murderous son of a bitch. How could she be attracted to such a man? After all he had done to her?

_He'll only hurt her again._

Bishop would just get what he came for and leave. More likely then not with a couple of dead bodies in his wake. And one of them could well be Chantal's.

No. Not this time.

Casavir would not see her hurt again by the hand of this bastard.

xxx

Bishop stared out into the night, his thoughts racing, his heart still beating fast. He should be thankful to the paladin for saving him right now.

_Well, that sure is new._

It had been really close. Watching her eyeball the soot in her hand, he could not help but laugh at the disgusted expression on her face. Then she had looked up, and in an impulse, he had reached out and started to blacken her strikingly white hair. It felt like silk under his fingers. She had wrinkled her nose, making her look like a girl, and he could not resist trailing his sooty fingers over her cheek. The look in her eyes had changed... and it had felt like time was standing still as he sat, not able to turn away, wanting to draw her close…

And then the paladin had broken the spell by noisily throwing his pack down. Had done it intentionally, of course.

_Did you a favour__. You should go and shake his hand._

_Not in _this_ life._

Still, it was true. No telling what kind of stupidity he might have committed if the paladin had not intervened. He had been so close to leaning forward, searching her lips with his… Had even forgotten the paladin was there, watching.

_So much for keeping distance._

_Have to try harder._

This probably had to be the most addlebrained idea he ever had in his life. He should have run the other way as soon as he clapped eyes on her. But no, he had to follow her and then, instead of letting them walk to their death if they were stupid enough to go to Luskan, he had to _accompany_ them.

_Congratulations. You have officially taken leave of your senses._

Well, that could be mended. He was here now, could not change that. But as soon as they were out again, he would do as planned and run. Like hell.

xxx

Chantal busied herself with sorting through her backpack until her hands stopped shaking. Her composure at least outwardly restored, she gazed at Bishop, who stood in the doorway, staring outside, his back to them.

"Are we going now?", she asked, very proud of herself for sounding normal.

He turned, regarding her for a moment without reply. His blackened hair made him look even more saturnine than usual. Eventually, he said:

"Take whatever money you can spare. If you have any valuables you can throw in, all the better. I might be able to find someone who can get your little demon out of jail without us having to fight half of Luskan, but it's gonna cost. Much."

"What do you have in mind?"

Again he took his time answering. "I know someone who knows someone. Someone with access to prison keys. For the right amount of money, that someone might free the goat girl. But it would have to be enough that he could leave this city afterwards to go far away."

"Why would he do that?"

He snorted. "Why wouldn't he? Who would miss the chance to leave this rathole? Most people just stay because they can't _afford_ to leave. Because you have to run far for Luskan agents not to find you someday."

His voice sounded bitter.

"_You_ did not run far."

He smiled humourlessly. "No. But I'm very good at hiding."

_And there had been __a reason for staying close._

He quickly shoved that thought down.

Chantal mentally took stock of her belongings. "Well, I have some money. Some jewellery. And probably some magical trinkets I can spare. I did not expect having to pay a ransom when I left."

Casavir's footsteps sounded, and a heavy pouch was pressed into her hand. "Take this", he rumbled. Then he started going through his backpack as well, taking out some rings and amulets. At last, he took of the magical rings from his fingers, and the amulet he wore on his neck. "And these. I don't know what price they will fetch, but take them. Just bring her back."

Chantal nodded and took everything.

"Then let's go get your demon friend and be out of here", Bishop muttered caustically.

She gave him a long look. "Neeshka once was your friend, too, Bishop."

His lips curled derisively and he turned away. "We were never _friends_, bard", he said.

She fastened the pouches to her belt, feeling irrationally hurt by his remark. Passing him in the doorway she paused, saying very quietly: "You may not have been _my_ friend. But I still was yours." She stood, without looking at him, waiting for him to take the lead.

xxx

Bishop stomped through the ruined city, still fighting the impulse to just turn and punch her in the face. Friends, huh? The nerve! If the way she had played with him was friendship, then he'd pass, thank you very much.

_Give me a good enemy any time._

With enemies, at least you knew where you stood. Could not say that about that so-called friendship.

_I would have __fought with her. I would have _died_ for her!_

_Who'd have thought I would ever be so stupid again?_

Luckily for him, he had seen what her "friendship" was all about in time to avoid that. But that one short moment, he would have done _anything_ for her. Before she showed her true face.

_I must have forgotten, else I would not be here right now._

_How sweet of her to remind me._

He briefly considered ratting her out to Luskan yet. Just to watch her face while they got to her. It was tempting. It really was.

_Only if you don't think farther._

He winced as the memories threatened to surface once more. He had managed to keep them away for years, but now he seemed to constantly have to fight them.

_All her fault! __She is stirring it all up._

And he hated her for it. But he just could not do it. Besides, he would be in deep manure as well. So no, as enticing as the idea was, better to stick to his original plan. And get the hell away from her as soon as possible.


	14. Chapter 14 Lion's Den

Chantal followed Bishop, who was storming through the ruins, never looking back to check if she kept up. Anger spoke out of every one of his movements.

_Seems like I royally pissed him off again._

And this time she did not even mean to do it.

_I really don't get him._

She sighed, then shrugged inwardly. It did not matter. Soon, she would be rid of him again. The only thing that mattered was helping Neeshka.

She saw him stop and wait for her to catch up without looking round. She realised they had reached the edge of the ruins and were about to step into the city proper. Her stomach cramped slightly. If she had let herself be fooled by Bishop again, it would probably be the last mistake of her life. Well, too late to turn back. Too much at stake.

"Careful now", he said, still without looking at her. "Try to act normal. And _don't_ draw up your hood."

He started walking down the streets, suddenly appearing relaxed and at ease. The anger seemed to have evaporated. She fell in step with him, regarding him out of the corner of her eyes.

_Gods, he's good. _

Hard to imagine that just seconds ago his movements had been jerky and irate. Now he moved calmly and gracefully.

_Born actor. No wonder he deceived you._

Was she being deceived again?

_Only one way to find out._

The hard way, unfortunately.

Her thoughts were interrupted when suddenly his arm went around her shoulders and he drew her close. She flinched, but his grip tightened, holding her fast. "Patrol", he whispered into her ear. "_Try_ to look as if you like me."

The last sentence dripped with sarcasm.

Again, she felt an inexplicable stab at his words. Oh yes? Well, two could play that game. And as a bard, she could act as well. She melted against him, her arm going round his waist. Her head snuggled against his shoulder, and she turned her eyes adoringly up to his face, giving him her best dazzling smile.

Gazing down at her, his step faltered. Then he caught himself and continued walking while they passed a group of armed and armoured guards. Luckily, the guards continued without giving them a second glance. If she had not been so nervous because of them, Chantal would have laughed. The annoyed look on his face had been priceless.

_One for me._

_Besides, this feels nice..._

No! No nice. This was just show.

_Right._

But she could not deny his strong body felt good against hers... and that his scent still went straight to her head...

She came back to reality when he roughly shoved her away.

"Guards are gone", he snapped.

xxx

Anger churned in Bishop while he walked through the hated streets, outwardly relaxed, storm raging inside.

_The bitch!_

The look she had given him had been like a stab through the heart.

_Exactly how she looked at __me then._

What more proof did he need that she was a manipulating, conniving vixen who played him like a violin? She was doing it again!

_Oh no. No, no, no. No way!_

Distance. Distance was what he needed. A lot of distance. Soon. When they were back to the ruins, he would dump her on the paladin and get some sleep. Tomorrow night they would hopefully leave this lovely place. And then he would be out of her life. And she out of his. He could not wait.

xxx

Chantal walked beside Bishop, still watching him under her lashes. He seemed relaxed again, but there was a tension in his jaw, and his eyes burned with amber flames. He still was angry. Very much.

_What have I done now?_

Why was he so mad? Perhaps she should try to calm him down some. She still needed him.

_There's an easy task._

_Well, ma__king him angry sure is easier._

"Bishop?", she started, hesitation in her voice.

"No need to talk", he snapped.

_Ouch._

She reached out and put her hand on his arm.

"Listen..."

He jerked away like she had burned him.

"Don't _touch_ me", he hissed, his eyes narrow slits.

She felt anger rising in her, too.

"Listen, it was _your_ idea, so..."

"Yes, and it worked!", he interrupted, acidly. "So just shut up and let's get this over with!"

Feeling deflated, she closed her mouth and walked in silence. So much for trying to calm him down. She really did not understand. Even if she had overplayed the charade a bit, that was no reason to lose his temper like that. She sighed.

_I don't _get_ him._

xxx

Chantal followed Bishop for a couple of minutes more through the nearly empty streets until he stopped in front of a seedy building. He turned to her, the anger seemingly gone from his eyes, but with him, who could tell?

"How much do you have?", he said in a businesslike voice.

"A bit more then a thousand gold", she answered, likewise. "My jewellery might amount to about the same sum. And a couple of minor magic trinkets, rings, amulets and the like. And some more valuable ones from Casavir. They might be worth three or four thousand gold. Will that be enough?"

He shrugged. "Let's hope so. Stay out of it and let me do the talking." He knocked on the door. She swallowed a fitting reply and stayed silent. It probably _was_ better to let him do the talking. For now.

After some long minutes a little flap opened. Dark eyes regarded them suspiciously. "Who's there?", a gruff voice rang out.

"Vince, it's me", Bishop said, stepping in front of the flap. "Open the blasted door."

There was a sharp intake of breath behind the flap. It fell closed and Chantal could hear the sound of a bar being pulled back. Then the door opened and a tall, dark haired man stepped aside to allow them inside.

Bishop entered without hesitation, and Chantal followed him swiftly, finding herself in a small vestibule. The dark haired man – Vince – closed the door and turned to them.

"Are you completely insane to show your face here? You know what will happen if they find you.", he said to Bishop, incredulously. "And to me, too, if they find out I talked to you!"

"I know. I'm sorry", Bishop said, sounding sincere. Chantal could hardly believe her ears. Bishop, _apologising_? "I would not be here if I knew another way, believe me."

Vince settled against the wall. "Fair enough. What is it you want?"

Chantal peered at the man, curiously. He was tall, nearly as tall as Casavir, if not as muscular, dark hair cut short. Maybe in his mid thirties. The most noticeable thing about him was the scar on his face, running from the left corner of his mouth to his ear, pulling his mouth up a bit in what looked like a perpetual crooked smile. But there was no amusement in his dark eyes.

_Wonder what his relationship __with Bishop might be?_

"This is about the Neverwinter thief that has been caught", Bishop's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"The tiefling?", Vince said, surprised. "She will be executed in two days. Biggest event since I don't know when. One of the heroes of Neverwinter, they are exploiting that for all it's worth. What about her?"

Relief coursed through Chantal, making her knees weak. So she had been right. Neeshka was still alive. Thank the gods for that.

"See, that is the problem, Vincent", Bishop said, his fingers plucking at some imaginary lint on the cuff of his shirt. "Neverwinter hero. Neverwinter is not happy about her being executed. They want her out."

Vincent's eyes turned to Chantal. "Who is your friend?", he said, suspiciously.

Bishop looked up. "She's the one with the money. But you'll still talk to me."

"You brought a _Neverwinter agent_ to my house? I can't believe this! Are you mad? Have you any idea what will happen if someone finds out? Why not leave me a message as always?"

Bishop's eyes went to Chantal for a moment, his lips curled in a mocking sneer.

"Could not do that this time. We'll just have to make sure no one finds out. Believe me, we don't want that any more than you."

Vincent snorted. "If I did not owe you, I would kick you out right now."

"Yes", Bishop said calmly. "But you do owe me."

Vincent's hand went to the scar on his face, his expression sad for a moment. "Fine. I do. Besides, I _owe_ them, too. So what do you have in mind?"

"Use your connections. We can pay. Get her out of prison, deliver her to us. Let them find her empty cell when they come to collect her."

"_Get her out of prison?_ You must be joking! Heads are going go roll in great measure, if she escapes!"

Bishop smiled, cruelly. The sight sent a chill down Chantal's back. "Oh yes. Many heads. Of Luskan prison guards."

An answering, equally cruel smile appeared on Vincent's face. "I see. I say, I'm beginning to like your little plan."

"I thought so."

They gazed at each other for a moment, and Chantal could feel some wordless exchange between the two men.

_What ever is going on here?_

Then Vincent spoke again. "We have to make sure no one can track this back to me. I don't want my head to be one of those rolling. And my contact... we will have to pay him enough to tempt him. He will have to be long gone when the escape is discovered."

Bishop nodded. "Agreed."

"And there must be a little something for me, too. I'm going to lose a valuable contact, it's gotta be worth it. So, how much do you have?"

Bishop waved at Chantal. "Show him."

She stepped forward and started to take the pouches off her belt, putting them on a little table at the wall. Vincent came to her side and started going through the contents, grumbling from time to time.

"Are these magical?", he asked, holding up the pouch containing the rings and amulets. Chantal just nodded.

"Good. I'll keep those for myself. Since they must be worth more than double the rest of the stuff, I'm going to throw in some of my funds, say, three thousand gold. The difference is my pay. That would make about five thousand gold payment for my contact. That might just be enough. Deal?"

"Deal", Bishop said.

"Fine. Where can I find you?"

"Ruins of Illusk. We'll be waiting for you."

Vincent shook his head. "Your old hideout? I should have known. You were never afraid of nothing, crazy bastard. That place creeps me out."

Bishop shrugged. "The rest of this beautiful city is no less creepy."

Vincent laughed. "Here we disagree. Never mind. I'll let you know how it went. Go now." He stepped forward, holding out his hand. Bishop took it, and Vincent's other hand reached out and squeezed his arm. "You know, it's been really good to see you again", he said, his voice soft suddenly. "Take care out there!"

Bishop gripped the other man's hand in both of his and smiled. "You, too. Be careful. We'll be waiting for you."

Chantal thought her jaw might hit the floor. Who was that man talking to Vincent? That was _not_ the Bishop she knew!

Vincent nodded and stepped back. "Don't expect me before tomorrow night."

He opened the flap on the door, peered outside, then opened the door to let them out. "Coast is clear. See you tomorrow."


	15. Chapter 15 Lapdog

They stepped on the street, Chantal still speechless from the little scene she had just observed. As they went back the way they had come, she sneaked glances at Bishop's face.

He noticed and glared at her. "What?"

She flinched, caught. "I... Vincent... oh, nothing!", she stuttered, angry at herself for being so discomposed.

He looked at her, then his lips curled snidely. "What? You did not think I had friends?"

_Oh, to hell with it!_

"No", she said bluntly. "I really did not think you had any."

A glint of amusement showed in his eyes. "Well, at least that's honest", he said.

They went on in silence, but somehow it was a different silence then before, less hostile. The streets still were nearly deserted. Luskan seemed not to be very big on the nightlife, Chantal thought. Or maybe they just were in the wrong quarter. Whatever it was, it was fine by her. The less people they encountered, the better.

Soon they reached the ruins within the city. Bishop quickly scanned the streets, and as no one was in sight, moved into the shadows between the crumbling buildings. Chantal followed.

"If it is forbidden to enter here, why is there not even a fence?", she asked.

He shrugged. "Not necessary. I told you people think this place is cursed. You heard Vince. Nearly no one enters here."

"Except for you", she stated.

"Except for me", he agreed.

"And is it?", she asked.

"Is it what?"

"Cursed."

He shrugged. "Never met any curse. Met some unsavoury inhabitants, though. So people probably do good staying outside."

"What kind of inhabitants?"

"Undead, mostly. Some pretty tough ones. Better to avoid them. But they usually stay underground, as I said, so...", he stopped, holding out his hand.

Chantal stopped walking and gave him a questioning glance. "What?", she whispered.

He cursed quietly. "Seems like they are not all staying underground tonight", he breathed. "Hush!" He dragged her back into the shadows between two of the derelict buildings.

xxx

They stood, squeezed between the walls and watched as a group of shambling corpses passed their hiding place. Her face was turned, gazing intently at the undead walking outside. She did not seem aware of the fact that they were pressed tightly together. But he was.

_Damn it!_

Her ear was inches from his mouth, and her sweet scent assaulted his nostrils. He swallowed, feeling his heart speeding up. And his breathing.

_S__he is going to notice if you pant into her ear! Get a grip!_

But it did not help. There it was again, that hunger he had tried to shove down into the darkest recesses of his soul, rearing its head. He stared at the graceful line of her neck, imagining his lips wandering down that smooth skin, finally reaching the sensitive spot at her throat, nibbling gently...

_Stop it, fool! Distance, remember?_

_There's no bloody space!_

_Not _that_ kind of distance!_

He had to cool down, had to keep control.

_Remember the way she played you? Think of that!_

Right. He would not let that happen again!

She turned her head and looked up at him. Her blackened hair made the pale blue of her eyes even more startling. He stared into those cool blue eyes for endless moments. He saw them widen as they met his, saw something sparking in them, and was lost. He slowly bent his head, his lips searching hers. Her eyes fell closed, and she melted against his body. Fire flared in him, and he pressed her against his chest, kissing her greedily. He felt her hands rip at his shirt. Then they were on his skin, nails digging into his back, and she moaned into his mouth.

_Oh gods._

He wanted her. Had to have her. Now. Screw distance. Screw everything. He growled, tearing her shirt free, because he had to feel her skin under his hands, and she was so soft, so smooth...

Something connected with his temple, hard, and he was lifted from his feet and thrown into the wall behind him, stars dancing in front of his eyes.

xxx

Chantal watched the shadows outside shamble past them. As the last one passed, she turned to Bishop – finding herself face to face with him, his eyes boring into hers. She suddenly was very aware how close he was. She could feel his warmth and the quick rising and falling of his chest.

She stood, mesmerised, staring into his amber eyes, not able to look away for what seemed like an eternity, but probably were only seconds, her heartbeat accelerating. She watched him lowering his head oh so slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, until their lips met. Her eyes closed, heat rising up in her, and her body pressed itself closer to his. She felt a shudder going through him, his arms closed around her, squeezing her to him. His mouth opened and his tongue searched for hers in what suddenly was a wild and frenzied kiss that swept her off her feet and made her knees weak.

She heard someone moan and realised it had been her. Her hands ripped his shirt out of his breeches, desperate to touch him, to get _closer_. The feel of his strong muscles rippling under the smooth skin of his back stoked the fire burning in her even higher. She could not help digging her nails into that soft skin, moaning. An answering growl escaped him that sent shivers down her spine as he deepened the kiss even more. She could feel him tugging at the fabric of her shirt as well, and then his hands were on her skin and she wanted…

…wanted him. Here. Now. She did not care for afterwards. She had to feel him now, had to feel his passion, burning her. His breath came in short gasps, she could feel his heart hammering against hers, little moans escaping him, his fingers digging into her skin, pressing her hard against his body, and she remembered how it felt to have all that ferocity unleashed, and oh gods, she wanted that, needed that, it had been so long…

She heard a dull sound, and suddenly Bishop's mouth was gone from hers. She opened her eyes, disoriented, and saw Bishop scrambling away from the wall, some inches away from her, his hand going to his head, shaking it, as if to clear it, and at her side stood... Casavir.

_Oh __gods._

The paladin looked like he was ready to murder someone, his face dark, eyes sapphire slits, his hands balled into fists.

_Oh gods!_

Shame welled up in her in a hot wave, instantly smothering all desire. How could she have let it happen again? She imagined how she must look, dishevelled, flushed, her clothes a mess, and cringed. She could not stand this, could not look Casavir into the eyes, could not look _Bishop_ into the eyes. She had to get away from them, had to...

With a desperate noise, she squeezed past Casavir and ran into the night.

xxx

Casavir let Chantal run past him without trying to hold her back. What he had to say was for the ranger's ears alone. Besides, he was so angry at them both, he was tempted to grab Chantal and shake her like a rag doll.

_How could she?_

The scene he had just stumbled into had made him feel sick. He had heard noises and as he peered out of Bishop's hideout, had seen that some undead were moving through the ruins. He started to get worried. After all, Chantal and the ranger were unarmed. If they ran into those walking corpses, they would stand no chance.

So he left the hiding place and started into the direction they had vanished in maybe two hours ago. Then there had been noises around the corner, and when he had a look, he saw...

The memory still made his blood boil. He growled, clenching his fists, and turned to Bishop, who was just getting his bearings again after the heavy blow Casavir had dealt him.

"Keep your hands off her, you filthy bastard!", he hissed, venomously.

Bishop snarled, his teeth bared. "I do what I please, _paladin_."

"Oh no, not this time! I won't allow it!"

The ranger barked out a short laugh. "Who's asking for your permission?"

Casavir's eyes narrowed to slits. "Keep away from her. I'm only telling you once."

"Get lost! I'm not afraid of your threats!"

The paladin balled his hands. "You better be."

"Oh, go screw yourself, you sanctimonious fool! I don't take orders from no one!"

"We'll see about that", Casavir said, cold fury burning in him. Without another word he turned and followed Chantal.

The bastard did not know it yet, but he was a dead man.

xxx

Bishop leaned back at the wall, closing his eyes, breathing hard, trying to regain some composure.

_One word more from that buffoon, and I would have punched his lights out!_

He was so fed up with the two of them! Who did they think he was, their puppet, happy to dance at their strings? Well, they were wrong!

_I should just leave them here. Serve them right!_

Yep, that's what he would do. Get back, get his stuff, and just leave them here to stew. To hell with them both!

_Let's see how the__y do without me._

A grim smile appeared on his face as he contemplated the possibilities. Vince would not be a happy customer if he came round tomorrow to find Bishop gone. Might even turn them over to Luskan, the price they would fetch. And then she...

An image rose in his mind as he thought of what _would_ happen, and he quickly shoved it down again. Vince would not do that anyway. He would never turn anyone over to Luskan. Not after what happened.

But even if Vincent handed over the demon and let them go, they would have a hard time finding their way down below. The goat girl might pull it off, but she had not been with them on the way here. So they would probably lose their way and starve down there. Or some abomination would feast on their flesh...

_Ah, happy thoughts._

_Maybe then she would __be sorry._

_So, this is what this is about? Making her feel sorry?_

He groaned and let himself sink down the wall.

_I'm pathetic._

This could not go on. He had to get a grip. Had to get back on his feet.

_Leave her to the paladin._

Well, it wasn't as if he wanted to keep her anyway. Would have told the jerk as much, if he had not infuriated him so with his blasted commands. No one talked that way to him.

_The way she ran into the night..._

_Just like last time._

But this time, the paladin had seen. He gave a short, sardonic laugh. Served her right. Let her explain that one.

_Don't worry, they will make up again._

Well, that was comforting. He raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Gods, he really was hopeless. And if he was honest with himself, he had to admit he could not really leave her to die. Could not bear that again.

_Pathetic._

With a sigh, he got up and started into the direction of his hideout.

_Maybe, if you roll over, she'll scratch your tummy._


	16. Chapter 16 Awkward Situations

Chantal ran through the dark ruins until her breath came short. She slowed down, panting, and looked around. She had no idea where she was, had not paid any attention to where she was running. It did not matter, as long as she got away from Casavir's accusing stare... and from Bishop.

She sat down on some piece of rubble, still panting heavily.

_How can I ever show my face again?_

She really would have preferred a horde of undead stumbling in on them. At least they would only have killed them.

_The look __on Casavir's face..._

He had looked so angry. So disappointed. Gods, she felt like she had let him down, completely. And maybe she had. Repeating her old mistake... it was beyond stupid. And even if Casavir had Neeshka now, she knew that it still stung that she had chosen Bishop over him, no matter the outcome. And that she still fell for the ranger, after all he had done – it was like a slap in Casavir's face.

_Will he ever forgive me?_

She sighed, running her hands through her hair in a tired gesture. Of course he would. It was just who he was, condoning everyone's failures but his own. The thought really did not help. In fact, it made her feel even worse.

_I really don't deserve a friend like him._

Well, she could not change what happened, could only see that it did not happen again. And there would be a time to apologise to Casavir, a time to wallow it guilt, but only after they were out of here again and had Neeshka safe. Until then, she would have to pull herself together. And get back to their little camp.

And spend a whole day in the company of Casavir and Bishop, without anything to do to distract them from their... differences.

_Wonderful._

Oh yes, it was going to be a blast. But it could not be helped. It was her own fault for letting her guard down.

She just hoped they had not killed each other by now. Casavir sure had looked ready to kill, and Bishop... well, he always was, wasn't he? That was kind of the problem. She _had_ to get back, to prevent any fatalities.

She sighed. So, where was she?

_You __are lost in the ruins._

Great. Really great. Just famous. Especially with all the undead walking around in here, and she did not even have a weapon. Well, apart from the dagger in her boot, but that was not going to save her if she ran into more than one of the amiable natives of this charming settlement. What had she been thinking, running into the darkness like that? Oh yes, she had not been thinking at all. Even before she ran. That was what had started the problem in the first place.

_Ok, concentrate. __Go back the way you came._

Bestest idea ever. At least up to the next junction. Then she was fairly sure she had come from the right. And then... left? Straight? Right again?

She had no idea.

xxx

When Bishop arrived at his hideout, the paladin was already there, sitting outside, staring up into the night sky. Bishop just ignored him, went inside and threw himself onto the cot he had placed there so long ago. A lifetime ago, it now seemed. He lay, staring at the ceiling, turning the events of the night in his head over and over again.

His mood surely had suffered some dizzying ups and downs. More downs then ups, if he was honest. Well, that was to be expected, the company he was travelling in. But this was the worst down he had so far.

He closed his eyes. Best to sleep it away. As a bonus, time would pass much faster that way.

But his brain just would not stop working. He opened his eyes again.

_Where is she?_

_I don't care._

_She should have been here already._

_I don't _care!

He turned on his other side resolutely. Stared at the wall. Turned on his back. Closed his eyes. Opened them again. Cursed. Sat up, groaning.

_Pathetic._

Swearing under his breath, he got up from the cot and started donning his leathers. Then he headed out into the night without deigning the paladin with a glance.

He went back to the small opening between the two buildings where they... had let the undead pass, and crouched down to examine the ground. The good thing was, nothing was left of the original pavement, the floor consisted of dirt and weeds. The bad things were, there had been a group of undead through recently. And it was too damn dark to see clearly.

But he thought he could make out her tracks. She had been running at full speed, so her footsteps were impressed deeper and the ground and weeds compressed to the back from her weight and momentum. Now that he had singled them out, her tracks were not that hard to follow. He kept his eyes on the ground, his ears concentrated on the surrounding sounds. He would have to rely on his hearing if something was coming for him, because his eyes had to stay trained on the tracks. He did not want to lose her trail.

xxx

Chantal got up and started back in the direction she had come from. She had to admit she was completely lost. These ruins were like a maze. If she found the others again, it would be pure coincidence. She could have kicked herself for running away in this childish fashion.

Well, no need for panic. These ruins could not be that big. So if she kept going, carefully avoiding any inhabitants, sooner or later she would come to a familiar spot. And then she could find back to he hideout.

Cautiously, she made her way through the dark alleyways, intently watching out for any movement. Then a dark figure stepped out of the shadows ahead. Alarmed, she reached into her boot for the dagger. She stopped in mid-motion as she recognised the wolf eyes glinting in the darkness.

Bishop just stood there, blankly looking down at her as she stood crouched, hand at her boot. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, into the dark alley he had stepped from.

Chantal could not deny the immense relief that was coursing through her. Being lost here had scared her more than she wanted to admit. Hurriedly, she followed Bishop before she lost sight of him in the darkness.

_He was looking for me?_

_Don't wonder, just be grateful._

Following Bishop in silence, glad about the darkness that hid the colour in her cheeks, she thought with dread of the next few hours, stuck with Bishop and Casavir, and nothing to do but sitting around. She dreaded meeting Casavir and having to look him in the eyes. But it could not be helped. She just would have to get through it somehow.

Soon, the alleys started to look a little familiar. And then, coming round a bend, she saw Casavir, sitting in front of the hideout, his back to the wall, his arms on his knees, eyes on the ground. He must have heard them approaching, but he did not look up. Chantal swallowed. This was not going to be easy.

Before her, Bishop just entered the little room with the cot in it, without giving them as much as a glance. And Casavir still did not look up. Chantal felt so guilty, she wanted to look for a dark corner and just curl up in it. But she could not let her cowardly side get the better of her. So she squared her shoulders, went over to Casavir and crouched down beside him.

"Can we talk?", she asked softly.

He nodded. "I was worried", he said in a carefully neutral voice. "I am glad he found you."

Chantal looked at the open doorway next to the paladin. Bishop could probably hear every word they said. This would not do. Her words were for Casavir alone.

He still would not look up, so she touched his hand. He drew back.

_Ouch._

It hurt, but she could not really blame him.

"Come with me? Please?", she asked.

He shrugged, got up and followed her a couple of steps away, until she thought that probably even the ranger's keen ears could not make out their words anymore. When she stopped and turned to face Casavir, he leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, still staring at the ground.

"Won't you at least look at me while we talk?", she asked, feeling a stab of annoyance in spite of everything.

He looked up at last, and his eyes were full of anger, and sadness, and hurt. The huge wave of guilt that had been hanging over her head came crashing down on her.

"I'm sorry", she whispered.

He ran his hand over his eyes tiredly. "How? How could you do it? I don't understand. I don't _want_ to understand."

"I don't know", she said, so low even he could probably barely hear her. "It just... happened. I don't understand myself."

"He is a traitorous, murderous, cold-blooded bastard! How could you let him touch you? How could you stand his touch, let alone... And after all he has done to you!" His voice rose with every sentence.

"I know. I know!", she said, feeling tears rising into her eyes. "I'm sorry."

He held up his hands in a warding gesture. "Let's just not talk about this anymore. I don't want to hear it. Just tell me what you found out about Neeshka, please."

She swallowed her tears, trying to gain some composure. "Right. Fine. Well, I've got some good news."

The anger in his eyes was instantly replaced by hope, making them shine like sapphire stars.

"She's is still alive.", she said.

Casavir leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, letting out a trembling breath.

"Thank the gods for that", he whispered.

"They will execute her in two days."

His eyes shot open. "What?

"Wait, I'm not finished yet. Bishop..." she swallowed. It was difficult to say that name around Casavir. "His contact thinks he can get her out. They will bring her here tomorrow night."

Casavir let himself sink down the wall and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders were shaking. Was he crying? Chantal had never seen him cry. He always was a pillar of strength.

She sat down beside him, wanting to hug him, but she knew he still did not want her to touch him. It made her feel dirty.

_What you did with Bishop makes you feel dirty. Casavir has nothing to do with it._

After some moments, Casavir looked up, and she could indeed see tears on his face. "I was sure I would never see her again", he said, his voice quivering. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me", she said, quietly. "I did not do this. Without Bishop's help, we would never have made it this far. We owe him, if we like it or not."

His face hardened. "I believe that when I have Neeshka safely in my arms again. But even then, I will never trust him. If he really did help us, it is because it suited him." With that, he stood and went back to the building, sitting down in his old spot.

Chantal closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then she looked up into the night sky, already not as dark as it had been. Morning was approaching, and she suddenly felt how tired she was. Best to try and catch some hours of sleep. They would have to stay in this place until tomorrow evening anyway. Sleeping was as good a way to pass the time as any. Better maybe, because you did not have to think while you slept.

So she followed Casavir back to the building and entered. For a moment, her eyes fell on the still form on the cot.

_I can't stay in here, with him. I just can't._

So she grabbed her backpack and her bedroll and went outside again, rolling out her blankets next to the wall. She lay down and soon fell into a fitful, restless sleep.


	17. Ch 17 More than one Way to Skin a Rat

_I probably got the technique completely wrong. Don't flame me, please._

_

* * *

_

When Chantal woke, it was to a grey, miserable day.

_How fitting._

She wondered why she thought that, but then the events of the last night came rushing back, and she cringed.

_Oh, hells!_

For a moment she contemplated just curling up and trying to get back to sleep, to be free of the memories for a few hours more, but then she got the better of the coward in her and sat up, looking around. Her eyes found Casavir, sitting in the same spot as last night.

_Has he moved at all?_

She could not see Bishop. Maybe he was inside.

_Just as well. I really don't want to see him right now._

She looked up into the sky and tried to make out the sun behind the thick layer of clouds. It was no easy task, but she thought she could discern a spot that was slightly brighter. If she was right about that, it was about midday.

_Hooray__. Half of this fun day already over._

She got up, stretched, drew a deep breath and walked over to Casavir, throwing a glance into the hideout, but it seemed to be empty. She started to feel a bit uneasy. Where was the ranger?

Casavir looked up as she approached. He looked deathly tired, dark smudges under his eyes. Chantal sat down next to him.

"Where's Bishop?", she asked bluntly.

Casavir just shrugged. "Walked off about an hour ago. He did not say where he went, and I did not ask. The less I hear and see of him, the better."

"You let him wander off alone?", she asked, incredulous.

"What? I thought you trusted him.", he said, sarcastically.

She felt an itch to slap him. "This is not the time to turn sulky on me! You know damn well I did not want to let him out of my sight as long as we are in this cursed city!"

"Yes, I noticed you did not want to let him out of your sight", he replied.

"Would you please stop that? Heavens know what he is up to!" She jumped up. "We have to get our stuff, we have to..."

She stopped, tensing, as she saw Bishop coming round the bend. When no one seemed to follow him, she slowly let out a breath she had not realised she had been holding. Where had he been, what had he done? Had he alerted someone to their presence?

_If so, you'll know soon enough._

Her stomach cramped at the thought of having to face him, to talk to him. This had to be the most embarrassing situation of her life. Only to think of the way he would probably gloat... She felt herself blushing.

_Can I just run and hide, please?_

Averting her eyes, she noticed something in his hands and looked back. What was that? Something dangled there, something like a... bag? No, not a bag... When he came nearer, she could make out brown, furry bodies, hanging down from the long, thin tails he held in his hand. Rats?

He paused before her, letting go of the tails. The rats landed at her feet with a dull sound. She looked up from the dead animals, into Bishop's face. Was there a glint of malice in his eyes?

"Breakfast", he said, and stepped through the door into the building.

Chantal looked back at the rats at her feet, her shame momentarily forgotten.

_Eeeew!_

Casavir got up, staring down at the little carcasses with a disgusted expression on his face that probably matched her own. Then he looked up at her, and his face softened.

"I'm sorry", he said. "You are right, it was childish of me. Stupid, and risky. And it won't happen again, I promise. I just felt so..."

She took his hand and gave it a short squeeze. "Shhh", she said. "I know. Don't worry about it. Nothing bad happened, I think. Did you get any sleep at all?"

He shook his head. "No, but that is not a problem. Someone had to stand watch, and I could not sleep anyway. This waiting drives me insane. I wish there was something I could _do_, instead of just sitting here, completely useless."

"I know. I feel the same. But you look like hell", she said honestly. "I'm awake now, so you go and get some sleep. You will be no use to Neeshka if you are completely exhausted. I'll wake you for...", she looked down at the rats at her feet and made a face, "...breakfast."

He sighed, and nodded. After giving her hand a last squeeze, he entered the building, only to come out with his bed roll as well, rolling it out next to hers.

She regarded the "breakfast" with dislike.

_What do I do with them?_

_Skin them, I think. And disembowel them?_

Yuk.

She had never done this before. There always had been somebody to look after their meals – Elanee, who was quite a good cook, Grobnar, whose creations could be somewhat... exotic, and even Bishop, for the time he was with them. He had been an adept cook as well, she remembered. It had surprised her at first. He just did not seem the type.

_Guess you have to learn, if you are as self-sufficient as he is._

That still left her with... what? Six dead rats and no idea what to do with them.

_Do I really want to _eat_ them?_

Well, the answer to that was plainly no, but the rumbling in her stomach said she had to eat something. And there was not much left in her backpack except for a bit of stale bread and some dried meat and fruits.

_Besides, he's just waiting for me to get all squeamish._

She was not going to give him that satisfaction. So she bent down, picked up the rats by their tails, repressing a shudder, and took them to the opposite building, where she sat down, drawing her dagger. Then she stared at the rats in indecision.

_So, what do I do now?_

After a moment, a shadow fell over her, and she looked up in alarm, seeing Bishop standing before her, arms crossed over his chest, his lips curled up in an amused smile. She gave him an icy glare.

_Not funny!_

He crouched down next to her, taking the dagger out of her hands.

"Look", he said, and his tone held no laughter. He picked up one of the rats by the neck, cutting the skin around it with the dagger. "You first cut the fur like this, and then like _this_...", the dagger sliced along the spine down to the tail. "Then you hold fast at the neck...", he did as he said, "loosen the skin a bit with the knife, and the you take it, giving it a good, hard _yank_...", he did, and the ripping noise nearly made Chantal gag. "That should do it. If it gets stuck, help it along a bit with the dagger. Then you cut off the tail and the head, and the only thing left to do is to disembowel the little bugger."

He looked up into her face, now showing a greenish tint. His eyes widened a bit, and laughter appeared in them. "What?", he said. "You can wade in the blood and entrails of your enemies, but you can't skin a rat?"

"Well, it sounds a bit silly, if you have to put it like that", she said, defensively.

He looked at her for a moment, then a true smile showed on his face, very different form his usual smirk. "Fine", he said, shaking his head, still smiling. "I'll do it. I was going to collect some dry wood for a fire, but maybe it's best if we swap."

She was so relieved, she gave him a thankful grin and jumped up. "I can do that!", she said, walking over to the next collapsed building, starting to pick up what was left of the timbers.

Only then she realised she had let him take her dagger while he was in striking distance. Let him take it right out of her hand. And that she left him alone, still holding said dagger.

_Gods, I'm slipping!_

She glanced over at Bishop, who was sitting where she left him, deftly working on the rats.

_Well, he does not look like he is going to stab someone in the next minutes._

Demanding the dagger back now would surely just serve to enrage him again. And she was glad that his mood seemed to have lifted a bit. It made getting through this day much easier.

_And with the disgusting rat business, I completely forgot to be embarrassed__ because of last night._

She felt colour rise in her cheeks and quickly looked away, starting to collect wood again.

_Too bad I remember now._

She would get her dagger back after he was finished. That way, she could do it without making him angry again.

_Besides, if I do it now, it would be me skinning the rats._

She kept watching Bishop out of the corner of her eyes. When she saw him clean the dagger on a patch of grass growing nearby, she decided she had collected enough wood. If he went back to the building now, he would pass the sleeping paladin. Better to be close by. She did not really believe he would try to attack Casavir, it was too stupid a thing to do, but she would not take any risk.

_Better safe then sorry._

So she walked up to him, meeting him halfway to the building. He carried the skinned and cleaned rats, and she had to admit that without the heads and tails they did not look as bad anymore.

_Like very small rabbits._

He saw her eyeing the rats and grinned.

"You'll see, they taste like chicken", he said.

"I seriously doubt that", she answered, wrinkling her nose.

He laughed, and as last night, the sound surprised her. She looked up at his face, searchingly. He gave her another grin and entered the building.

_He has a nice laugh. _

It was true. It was light and low, and the sound seemed to make something in her tingle. And it softened his hard face and made his normally cold eyes sparkle with warmth.

_He should laugh more often._

Or not. Better for her peace of mind if he did not. Somehow, an ill-tempered Bishop was easier to deal with.

She followed him inside and put the wood down, turning to Bishop.

"Can I have my dagger back now?", she asked.

He gave her a wry look, but handed her the dagger, handle first. She took it, feeling a bit relieved. She did not think he was going to turn on them anymore, but...

_You did not think it the last time, too._

True. And even less she had expected him to... well, what he had done later.

_Come on, you can say it._

Fine. Had not expected him to murder her. Hence, no risks.

"Since I seem to have nothing with a blade left, you'll have to go outside and get some sticks we can use as skewers", Bishop's slightly sarcastic voice broke into her thoughts. "I'll start the fire."

"Won't somebody see the smoke?", she asked.

He crouched down, piling the wood into his old fireplace. "Don't think so", he answered. "It's day, and we are in the middle of the ruins, so no one is going to see the shine. Since we start the fire inside, there will be no column of smoke going up, and the day is grey, so some wisps of smoke won't be easy to see. And this wood is nice and dry and will produce very little smoke anyway. So I think it is safe. Besides, I'm not going to eat these raw." He gestured to the rats.

"Point taken", she said, shuddering at the thought of raw rat. Cooked rat was bad enough. "I'll get some sticks."

She went outside, where at the corner of the building some bushes were growing conveniently. She selected some appropriate sticks and sliced them off with the dagger. After she cleaned them of leaves, she went back inside, where the fire just started to crackle merrily.

Bishop regarded the sticks. "Perfect", he said. "Sharpen them, and then we can start to roast these little treats."

_Treats?_

Hardly. But better than her growling stomach. Maybe. She sharpened the sticks and handed them to Bishop.

Soon the smell of roasting meat started to fill the little room, making Chantal's mouth water.

_I can't believe I'm starting to drool over roasted rat..._

She went to her backpack, taking out the rest of the stale bread.

"This is all I have left, but if we share, it will be enough to go with the... meat", she said.

Bishop looked up and smirked at her. "In denial about what you are going to eat?", he said.

"Yes", she replied haughtily. "And I would be immensely grateful if you would not constantly remind me."

He gave his soft laugh again, and as last time, something in her tingled at the sound. She swallowed.

_Oh, this is not good._

Maybe she really should say something to make him angry again.

_Good-humoured__ Bishop is just too dangerous._

Only she could think of nothing to say right now.

He handed her one of the sticks with the crispy brown... meat on it. "Your lunch, princess", he said, twinkling.

Butterflies seemed to flutter in her stomach as she met his wolf eyes, a warm smile in them for a change.

She swallowed and practically jumped to her feet. "I better get Casavir", she said, quickly. "He has to be hungry, too."

The smile vanished from his face, to be replaced by his usual nondescript expression. He just shrugged and retracted his hand with the rat, taking a bite out of it himself.

_There, I did it.__ No more merry Bishop._

She hurried outside to wake Casavir. With the two men together in one room, at least she could count on icy silence.

_Much, much better that way._


	18. Chapter 18 Over the Stone

_I borrowed the lyrics of an old Welsh folk song for this._

* * *

After they had eaten in merciful, if stony silence, Casavir went back to sleep. While Bishop put out the fire, Chantal went outside and looked up into the sky. Still a couple of daylight hours to pass, before they could expect Vince to bring Neeshka. And she had absolutely nothing to do but stay awake and keep her eyes open. And try to keep as far away from a certain ranger as possible.

Sighing, she went back inside and took out her beautiful lute, the one she had won from that arrogant bard in Neverwinter so long ago. She carefully unwrapped it from the soft cloth she used to protect the instrument.

_It's a long time since I played you._

It was true. Since she had decided to pursue her draconic heritage, she seldom played or sang anymore. But somehow, now she felt the urge. And it would help pass the time.

Her hands caressed the gleaming, smoothly lacquered wood. Then she went outside, sat down in the same spot as Casavir the last night, closed her eyes for a moment and let her fingers wander over the chords. Then she opened them again and started to play one of her favourite tunes, softly singing to herself.

xxx

Bishop sat in front of the doused fire, thinking of the strange turn things had taken during the last hours. He had brought her the rats, more as payback as anything else, fully expecting her to be all prissy about the skinning and eating rat business and looking forward to seeing her squirm. He was well aware she did not know how to skin an animal. She had been clearly disgusted, but she also had been determined not to let him see.

The sight of her, looking down at the rats, at a loss what to do with them, but at the same time grimly resolved to get the job done had struck a chord in him, pun not intended. Somehow he was reminded of that first time he had seen her, when he thought that this woman would just take everything you threw at her and somehow cope with it.

It moved him to go to her and help her. So he showed her how to do it, and somehow, suddenly, things had seemed different between them, in spite of the... events of the last evening. Not as strained as before. Companionable, even. It was strange. And for him, completely new. He had never felt this way with her before. Hells, he had nearly never felt this way with _anyone_ before.

_Nearly. _

_Stop it!_

But it had been a nice feeling. The light jokes, the laughter... he had enjoyed it, could not deny that.

_J__ust one of her tricks again._

And then she had to go and fetch the paladin. Wake him from his sleep, even. As if eating rat could not wait. He snorted.

_She just did not want to be alone with you._

Well, fine by him. She could go and hide behind the paladin for all he cared.

He saw her enter the building again, but she just wordlessly passed him by, avoiding his gaze, and started to sort through her backpack, taking out a carefully wrapped bundle. When she took away the cloth, he realised that she had taken out her lute.

_I can't even remember the last time I __heard her play._

He saw her reverently running her hands over the polished wood, then she took the instrument outside. A couple of moments later, he heard some soft chords, and her smooth, velvety voice accompanied the sad tune she was playing.

_Over the stone, the old gray stone,_

_Let me ponder here alone,_

_Through all weather we go together_

_Ancient stone, thou good old stone._

_Of the many friends I've seen,_

_Thou the truest friend have been._

_Some forget me, some have fled,_

_Some are false, and some are dead,_

_Changing never, constant ever,_

_Still I find thee, dear old stone._

_Standing here, thou silent stone,_

_What a world thou must have known!_

_Deeds of glory, lost to story,_

_Hast thou witness'd, ancient stone._

_Here beneath the grass, 'tis said,_

_Many warriors bones are laid,_

_Fighting for their land they fell,_

_None but thou can truly tell._

_Secrets keeping, ever sleeping,_

_Dream'st thou of the past, old stone?_

He leaned back against the cot, closing his eyes, listening. The mournful song, so perfectly reflected in the sad tone of her beautiful voice touched something inside him, something he would have preferred to remain undisturbed. A knot seemed to build in his stomach, and there was an ache in his heart, painful and bittersweet. He just longed to let her voice envelop him, wrap himself into that warm blanket and let it take away the hurt.

_What the...?_

He sat up, shaking his head to get it clear. Then he growled, got up and threw himself onto the cot, hands over his ears. He would sleep the rest of the day away. This was beyond all bearing!

_Damn those bards and their emotion crap magic!_

xxx

Chantal put down the lute again, sadness filling her heart. The song always reminded her of the friends she had lost, those that had not survived their final confrontation with the King of Shadows. Sand, Khelgar, Grobnar, Zhjaeve... and Qara, who had turned against them. She had to admit, she had never liked the girl, spoiled little brat, so arrogant it bordered on stupidity – but for her to turn on them like this had been a nasty surprise. And a mistake the girl had paid for with her life.

But she dearly missed the others. Grobnar, who could always make her laugh. Khelgar with his good-natured rumbling, and Sand with his sharp wit and sharper tongue. Even Zhjaeve, though the Githzerai's lectures often drove her mad. Sometimes she thought if the cleric started _one_ more sentence with "_Know_ that..." she would just strangle her. But still... they had followed her, and they had died. She sighed. They had known what they were up to, but that did not ease the guilt she felt, thinking of them.

Elanee and Ammon had made it, but Ammon had left soon afterwards. Their task completed, he had seen no reason to stick around. And Elanee... she had wandered off eventually, trying to found a new circle of druids in the Mere. Sometimes, she had stopped by, visiting Chantal, but those visits had been few.

So the only two real friends she had left were Neeshka and Casavir. She prayed to the gods that their rescue mission would be successful. She just could not bear losing more of her friends.

The afternoon passed in leaden slowness. Chantal sat, her back against the rough stone wall, staring up into an equally leaden sky. Casavir was still sleeping. Bishop had not emerged from his little hideout. She told herself she should be glad about that. The less contact she had with Bishop, the better.

But she was bored out of her mind after a couple of hours. She just was not used to sitting around with nothing to do. Her lute was lying next to her, untouched since she played that one tune. She just could not take the memories and the sadness playing or singing brought up. Maybe after Neeshka was restored to them, she would feel better about it. But now, with the threat of losing even more of her friends looming, she could not bear thinking of the ones she missed.

To her immense relief, at last the light in the sky began to dwindle. Just as she got up, Bishop came out of the doorway. He looked up at the darkening sky, then to her.

"I don't know when Vince might be along. Could still be a long wait."

She looked over to Casavir who had started to stir in his sleep.

"I honestly hope not. This waiting is unbearable."

He shrugged. "Let's move out of here."

"What? Why? Won't he come here with Neeshka?"

He shrugged again. "He'll come here. Whether he comes with the demon, that's another matter. Anyway, I prefer not to sit here like a duck."

"You think he'll betray us?"

He gave her a sardonic glance. "Not likely. If he had, they would have come already. Besides, as he said, he owes me. And he's not too keen on Luskan's authorities." Something flickered on Bishop's face, but it was gone before Chantal could identify the emotion. "But he might be followed. Or something else might have gone wrong. So you'll wait at the entrance to the stairs. I'll stay here and watch."

"You'll not stay here alone."

He actually rolled his eyes. "This is getting old, bard! Just like Vince, if I had wanted to rat you out, I would have done already. I had ample opportunities."

"How do I know you have not ratted us out, as you so poetically put it?"

He smiled without humour. "Because you are still alive. And free."

She shook her head. "No. We'll all stay nearby. Assuming you _are_ telling the truth, someone might have followed Vince. There might be a fight. Neeshka's life might be at stake. We'll stay as close as possible."

He snorted and pointed his thumb at the sleeping paladin. "With him in tow, and all that clanging metal, we might as well stay right here."

It was her time to shrug. "He'll move as little as possible."

He sneered. "Fine. Do what you will. Just don't blame me afterwards."

She gave him a sweet smile. "I'm going to do that anyway."

He barked out a short, surprised laughter. "Ain't that the truth." He shook his head. "So, go then, wake you lover over there and get moving."

xxx

Chantal went and kneeled down next to Casavir. She softly touched his shoulder. He murmured something unintelligible, but did not open his eyes. She grabbed his shoulder a bit harder.

"Casavir!", she called out softly.

His eyelids fluttered. "Neeshka...?", he said, opening his eyes. When they found Chantal, they showed confusion for a moment, then realisation dawned and sorrow, mixed with hope, appeared. He sat up quickly.

"What? Are they here?", he asked.

"Not yet", she said. "Bishop thinks they still might take a while. But he also thinks it's best to move camp."

Distrust was written all over the Casavir's face. "Why does he think that?"

"Because V... his contact might be followed. We are going to observe from nearby, so we do not make ourselves too easy targets."

His lips compressed, but he only said "Very well", and got up, starting to collect his stuff.

Chantal did the same, and after a couple of minutes they were ready to move. Bishop led them to another nearby building, so collapsed Chantal would never have gone near it. But he went around a corner and ducked though a part of broken wall. He looked back at them and said:

"It's perfect for observing, but try not to run into the walls."

Chantal eyed the building with mistrust. "Is it safe?"

He shrugged. "Well, it's been standing like this since I first came her, so let's hope it does not choose tonight to collapse completely."

"Very reassuring", she murmured, but followed him inside.

Casavir also followed, more slowly, since he had trouble squeezing through narrow openings with his plate mail. Inside, they found that indeed through one of the windows, they could observe Bishop's hideout perfectly.

Bishop turned to Chantal. "Since you think there might be a fight later, is there the remotest possibility of me getting my weapons back?"

She stared at him for a second, then said bluntly: "No."

Anger darkened his face. "I think I have proved that I don't plan on "something funny". And I would feel a lot better if I had my weapons back."

She shook her head. "It takes more than that to make me trust you again. Be grateful your hands are not tied up anymore."

He made a growling noise. "Gods, you are driving me insane!"

"I don't think anyone is going to notice the difference", Casavir's deep voice came from behind.

Bishop threw him a poisonous glance, but did not answer. Instead, he dropped his backpack, took out some dried meat, sat down and started to chew on it.

Chantal studiously ignored him and kept looking out of the window. Nothing moved outside. Absolutely nothing.

For hours. Absolutely nothing had moved. Her eyes were starting to water from staring intently out into the darkness. Casavir diverted his alertness between the window and the ranger, who still sat, his back to the wall, sulking.

_Well, let him. _

_There – what was that?_

Had she imagined movement, like the thousands of times before? No... this time, someone _was_ coming. More undead? Or Vince?

Without looking down, she touched Bishop's shoulder, then pointed out of the window. Graceful, nearly without noise, he stood up and gazed out of the window himself.

"What is it?", Casavir whispered from behind. "Are they coming?"

Bishop's eyes narrowed, while he intently stared outside. "I can see two figures", he said, voice very low. "The first one... yes, it's Vince. The second... a man. I think he is wearing a Luskan uniform."

_How can he tell? He must have eyes like a cat._

"What?", Chantal whispered back. "A Luskan uniform? Did he betray us in the end?"

"And where is Neeshka?", Casavir voiced his most pressing concerns.

Bishop observed a bit longer, then he said: "Don't know. Don't think Vince would betray me, and if he had, the Luskan guy would not be standing in plain sight. We'll best go and see what this is about." He glowered at her. "Probably of no use to tell you I best sniff out the situation alone?"

She shook her head. "Nope."

"Whatever." He turned and started out the way they had come in.

Chantal and Casavir followed him. She had a nagging feeling of unease in her stomach. Was this a trap after all?


	19. Chapter 19 Delivery

Squeezing through the last opening out in what passed for a street in these ruins, ignoring the way the stone scraped over his prized armour, Casavir could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest. Normally he would have winced at the grating sound that promised dents and scrapes on his beloved piece of metal, but this time, he barely registered it.

What would the news be? Where was Neeshka? Did they save her? Had they been too late? Would he still lose her, now, after her rescue had seemed so near? Could fate play a jest as cruel as this on him, letting his hope rise, only to utterly crush it again? In the back of his head, the possibility that they might walk into a trap still tried to get his attention, but he could not care. If this was a trap, then Neeshka would be lost. And if Neeshka was lost, he did not care if he lived or died.

_You still care if Chantal lives or dies._

That was true. He did. And he had tried to prevent the worst when they started on this reckless mission. But after they had come this far… he could see nothing else he could do but hope that, miraculously, the ranger would choose not to stab their backs this time. And he had to admit that now, when the goal seemed so near, he started to believe in that possibility.

_Wanted_ to believe. So much.

As they came round the bend, the two men standing in front of the hideout turned their heads. A few steps more, and the second one in the Luskan uniform gave a high pitched little squeal, propelled himself forward, past Bishop and Chantal, who marched front, and practically threw himself into Casavir's arms. His arms went around Casavir's neck, and his mouth pressed against his.

_Neeshka!_

He would recognise that voice, that scent anywhere. His arms caught him… _her_, crushed her against his body and kissed her back, his eyes closed, relief and joy making his knees weak.

Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked down into a very male face. With beard. He drew back a bit, a small, happy smile appearing on his face. "This is very disturbing", he said.

She giggled, shook herself a bit, and the illusion fell away. He stared into her pretty face, the face he had been nearly sure he'd never see again, and a tremor went through him. He had been so close, so close to losing her forever.

"Never, never do that to me again", he whispered, his voice shaking, tears welling up in his eyes.

Her smile vanished. She took her hand from his neck and tenderly stroked his face. "I promise", she said softly. "I'm so sorry."

He gave a shaking sigh, pulling her closer, his mouth searching for hers again.

_I've got her back. Merciful gods, I thank you all._

xxx

Chantal stood, watching the scene unfold before her eyes with a happy smile on her face. The sight of Casavir kissing a Luskan guard was priceless indeed, but she was too touched by their joy to be able to really appreciate it. Then Neeshka let the illusion go, and there she was, horns and all.

Chantal was more glad than she could ever tell. Neeshka was back. Casavir would be fine. Everything would be well again. The sight of her two friends, rejoicing in their reunion, made her happy, too. But mixed into her joy was also a small pang of regret.

Involuntarily, her eyes sought Bishop, who was staring at Neeshka and Casavir with a thunderstruck expression on his face. The sight was so funny Chantal nearly laughed. Then, as if feeling her gaze, he turned his face to her, disbelieve still obvious in his eyes. He stared at her, as if waiting for an explanation. She gave him a crooked little smile, turned back to her friends and started walking over to them.

They were so completely lost to the world, they did not register her steps when she approached, so she demonstratively cleared her throat, smiling a bit. Casavir lifted his head, looking abashed, colour rising in his cheeks, but Neeshka grinned like a Cheshire cat. Chantal took the last step that separated her from them, and hugged them both.

"I swear, Neeshka, if you ever play us such a trick again, I will kill you personally", she growled, the smile on her face belying her words.

"I won't, I promise", Neeshka squeaked, including Chantal in the embrace. "I'm so sorry, I really am. I did not want to do it, I did not, but they said they were going to send assassins after Casavir if I did not, and I could not let something happen to him, so I went anyway, even though I knew it was a bad idea, but what could I have done? These people are bad, they really are, and I was so afraid, so I…"

Casavir stopped her tirade with a finger on her mouth. "You did it because they threatened to kill me? I can't believe my ears. I'm not that easy to kill! You should never have risked your life for that. If you had come to me, we could have done something about those people." His face hardened into resolve. "As we will do now. I will make sure they get what they deserve. They will not threaten anyone ever again, I swear."

"Yes, very commendable", Chantal interrupted, "but first, we should see that we get out of this beautiful city. We should be far away when they start searching for Neeshka. Let's get going."

Neeshka giggled again. "Oh, it will be a long time before they start looking for me! It was brilliant, it really was! There was this guy coming into my cell with the jailor, and I could see he really was important, because the jailor guy was fawning all over him, and then the important guy clobbered him over the head and he fell unconscious, and then he – the important guy, not the jailor – took out some scrolls and read one on the jailor, and he turned into me, which was just _so_ weird, and after that he gave me a scroll and told me to use it on me to make me look like the jailor, and then we just walked out, bold as brass, and it was so much fun I nearly could not stop myself from laughing… anyway, we left the jailor polymorphed into me in the cell, and he will have a hard time explaining he's not me, so…"

Chantal broke into laughter. "I should have known not even a Luskan prison would be able to quench your spirit", she said.

xxx

Bishop watched in disbelieve as the Luskan guard ran at the paladin and started kissing him.

_What the heck?_

He stared, not believing his eyes, until the guard turned into Neeshka.

_The demon girl!_

_W__hy is she all over the paladin?_

_And he over her?_

He had the distinct feeling that he had taken leave of his senses and started hallucinating. As if drawn by strings, his head turned to look at the ice queen, to see how she was taking this.

She was looking back at him, and a wry smile appeared on her face. One eyebrow went up, mocking him, before she turned again and walked over to her friends for a group hug.

"You look like someone punched you in the face", Vincent's voice came from beside him. "Something wrong?"

Bishop just shook his head, still to bewildered to speak.

"You're not going to join them?", Vince asked, laconically.

Bishop snorted, shaking off the stupor at last. "Not likely." He faced Vincent, whose lips were curled in an amused smile. "So – we're even then."

Vincent shrugged. "This was never about debt, and you know that."

Bishop nodded. "Thanks."

"So…", Vincent's eyes went to the group some yards away, "what's up with you and her?"

Bishop's eyes narrowed a bit. "Don't know what you are talking about", he said, very calm.

Vincent grinned. "Fine, I know that tone. I won't probe. But I remember her hair being a lot darker when I last saw her." The amusement vanished out of his eyes. "You brought the – supposedly dead – Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep to my house. If anyone would have recognised her, I would be very dead by now. I really don't appreciate that."

Bishop held his gaze coldly. "I already said I would not have done it if I had seen any other way. You going to threaten me?"

The grin reappeared on Vincent's face. "Me? No, I like living too much. But that is also the reason I have to tell you I don't like what you did."

Bishop relaxed a bit. "Agreed. Won't happen again."

"Good." Vincent glanced back at the other three. "Still – word is, you betrayed her. Some say you even killed her with your own hands. So, what are you doing here, risking your life for her and her friends?"

"None of your business." Bishop's voice was cold.

Vincent smiled, sadly. "So, that the case, is it?"

"What? What do you mean?"

Vincent shook his had, sighing slighty. "And I thought I would never live to see the day."

"_What the nine hells are you talking about?" _Bishop's voice rose, the calm gone.

"What, me? Nothing, just rambling idly", Vincent replied, now a sly grin on his face.

Bishop drew a deep breath, ready to give the bastard a piece of his mind, and, if he did not stop his cryptic remarks that second, punch him in the nose, when out of the corner of his eyes he saw the ice queen disentangle herself from her friends and walk over to Vincent and him. He forced himself to relax. No need to let her see something was amiss.

She came over, all smiles, warm glow in her blue eyes, and held out her hand to Vincent.

"Thanks. We owe you so much. Know that if you ever need it, you will have friends in Neverwinter."

_You owe _him_? I can't believe I'm hearing this!_

Vincent took her hand, smiling also. "Good to know, Knight Captain. There might be a time I will take you up on that offer."

_Brown-noser!_

"Don't call me that", she replied. "The Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep is dead, and she will stay that way. But as for Chantal Addams, you have made a friend today."

Vincent nodded and let go of her hand. "Bishop," he said. "You could learn some manners from her."

_Ugh._

"If you are done licking her boot, can we be off?", he snapped.

xxx

Chantal watched Bishop from under her lashes as they walked over to Neeshka and Casavir.

_What has happened now to put him into a foul mood again?_

Honestly, these constant mood swings could not be healthy. She shrugged inwardly. No matter. Neeshka was restored to them, safe and sound, and she was so happy, not even Bishop's angry face could put a damper on that.

Vincent had left with a last nod to her and a knowing smile in Bishop's direction. Somehow, that smile had seemed to infuriate the ranger even more. He had just growled and turned away, walking in the direction of the hidden staircase – and the other two.

Neeshka and Casavir were still hugging each other tightly, engrossed in some quiet conversation. As Chantal and Bishop approached, they looked up. Neeshka's eyes focused on Bishop, getting very round. Then they started to blaze a deep red.

"What is _he_ doing here?", she piped up, freeing herself from Casavir's embrace and putting her hands on her hips challengingly. "Is nobody going to punch his face?"

"Shut your mouth, _demon_, or I'll do it for you", Bishop snarled.

"Try it", Casavir growled.

"Can we please save that for later and get out of here first?", Chantal interrupted the display of male posturing impatiently.

"I don't understand", Neeshka said, helplessly looking at Chantal. "He _killed_ you! Why is nobody attacking him?"

"Because he is helping us."

"_What?_ _Why?_" Neeshka looked completely taken aback.

"Believe me, goat girl, I'm starting to wonder that myself!"

Chantal rolled her eyes. "Do we really want to waste time here, bickering like children, while they might already have started looking for us?"

"No, we don't", Casavir spoke up.

_Ah, at last. The voice of reason. _

"Thank you", she said, heartfelt. And turning to Bishop: "Would you please lead the way?"

He glowered at Neeshka one last time, then wordlessly marched in the direction of the secret door. Chantal followed him. Behind her, she could hear Casavir and Neeshka falling into step.

"I really don't understand", she heard Neeshka whispering to Casavir. "_Why_ are we not killing him?"

"Long story", he rumbled. "I'll explain it to you later. After we are safely away from this place. I'm not going to risk losing you now."

"'All right", she said. "But that better be _one hell_ of an explanation!"

Before her, Bishop had reached the seemingly smooth wall that held the secret door. Confidently, he pressed a stone and again, the rumbling sounded, a portion of the wall moved aside, and darkness loomed ahead.

Well, Chantal thought, here we go again.


	20. Chapter 20 Down and Out

Chantal sat by the fire, her thoughts wandering back the last couple of hours.

They had descended the endless, winding staircase in silence, Bishop in the lead, walking quickly, nearly running down the stairs, as if he could not wait to get away from them. She followed as closely as possible. Neeshka and Casavir, still engrossed in their own world, talking quietly, fell a bit behind.

At the bottom of the stairs, the ranger had stopped and turned back. As she caught up with him, she could see the anger still in his eyes, as he looked at her with resentment. She wondered what hat caused his anger this time, but asking him would only get her a scathing remark. Well, he could keep his little secrets.

She had to admit though that against all probabilities, he _had_ helped them to rescue Neeshka. Why had he done it? He really was a mystery to her. And as much as what she was going to say next would hurt her pride, he deserved it.

So she walked up to him, stopped and looked into his angry eyes, not speaking for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"_What?",_ he snapped. "Some complaint, _Captain_? Am I not licking your boot eagerly enough? Well, let me tell you..."

"Bishop", she interrupted softly. And wonders over wonders, he paused. "Thank you", she added, making use of the short silence.

"What?", he said again, but the tone of his voice was incredulous, not angry anymore. "What did you say?"

"I admit I did not trust you. I still don't. But you really have helped us with Neeshka. We could not have done it without you. I do not understand why you did it, but I thank you for it."

She saw the anger dissipate, to be replaced by an expression she could not identify. Was that... uncertainty? Indecision? And maybe a hint of... fear? Before she could be sure, the impassive mask hid his emotions again, and he sneered and turned away.

"Yes, that'll buy me much", he said, derisively.

Refusing to let him rile her, she put a hand on his arm. "Wait", she said. He turned to her again, eyebrow cocked, lips curled.

She took the bundle with his scimitars from her belt, where she had carried them all the time, and handed it to him. "I think you earned these", she said.

He stared at her, the mocking expression gone from his face, a number of emotions warring on it, chasing each other so quickly she could not identify a single one. Slowly, he reached out and took the swords from her hand.

She took his bow from her back. "And that, too.", she said. He looked down at his beloved bow, taking it with his other hand, softly caressing the wood. He looked up at her again, and it seemed that he wanted to say something, but then he just turned away abruptly and stared out of the doorway, into the greenish glow of the city of the dead.

Behind her, Neeshka and Casavir reached the end of the stairs. Casavir immediately noticed the bow in Bishop's hand, disbelieve showing on his face.

"You handed him his weapons?", his voice boomed, incredulous.

"He's _armed_ now?"; Neeshka piped, worried.

"How can you hand him his weapons?"

"I say we kill him now! I don't want him armed while he is near me. Or you. Or anyone!"

Bishop looked over his shoulder at Chantal, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps you best use that spell of yours again", he said, softly.

Thinking of that smile still made Chantal's heart skip a beat, just as it had done then. It was a quiet smile. An understanding smile. Intimate, somehow. There had been no mockery in his voice, nothing of his usual sarcasm. It was a smile that was only for her. As if they shared some joke only they could understand.

And she just had to smile back.

He made the barest of motions, as if turning to her, but then he just looked away again, into the glow ahead.

"We better get going, before we attract attention", he said, his voice neutral.

So she cast her spell, cutting off the still ongoing protests from the other two, who glared daggers at her. She just shrugged, refusing to feel guilty, and they started their careful way through the city. As last time, under the silence of Chantal's spell, they slipped through unnoticed. The tunnels to the surface were much easier this time, too, with Bishop armed, and Neeshka making do with whatever weapons they could spare, because her equipment had had to stay behind with her captors.

Casavir had not argued anymore about Bishop's weapons, but had stayed at her side like a watchdog all the time. Neeshka had continued bickering until Chantal had told her to shut up in no uncertain terms. Luckily, the tiefling had stopped complaining before Bishop lost his temper again.

When at last they had climbed up the well, without accidents and with the help of the rope this time, Chantal could hardly believe that they really had made it. Still following Bishop's lead, they had walked a couple of hours until the rest of the daylight had faded. Exhausted, after a night and a day of marching, they had made camp.

And now she was sitting by the fire, first watch, staring into the flames, her mind in a turmoil.

_What do I do?_

Her eyes sought the still form of the sleeping ranger.

_I still can't believe he did not turn on us._

But he had not. He had truly helped them. He had saved Neeshka's life. And Casavir's and hers probably as well, since she had to admit that, left to their own resources, they would very likely have been caught as well. Or simply killed in a fight. She owed him.

_Now, does that make up for what he did?_

Probably not. His betrayal, his murder of her, still weighted heavily against that one good deed. But it made it so much harder to deal with him. She could not simply paint him black anymore. That complicated things to no end. She sighed. Having him as a black villain had been so much easier.

Now, she could not turn him over to justice. It seemed wrong, even if he deserved to pay for his deeds, to thank him for risking his life by letting him hang. She just could not do it.

She would send him away. As soon as they were far enough from Luskan. Send him away, out of her life, hopefully for good this time. She just hoped he would leave. She still did not know why he had come back in the first place.

She heard movement and turned, alarmed, but it was only Neeshka, crawling out of her sleeping roll besides Casavir's. Silently, she approached Chantal and sat down next to her.

Chantal smiled at the tiefling, and Neeshka reached out and took her hand. "Thanks," she said, unusually solemn. "For coming for me. No one would ever have done that for me. I never had friends like you. So... thanks. I won't forget this."

Chantal squeezed Neeshka's hand. "Don't say that. You would have done the same for me."

Neeshka considered for a moment, then her face lit up. "Yes, I would", she said, grinning, her short grave moment over. "Wow. I'm so proud of myself!"

Chantal laughed.

Neeshka's eyes went to Bishop. "I grilled Casavir", she said. "You know he cannot withstand my interrogation techniques, so don't be mad at him."

"What did he tell you?", Chantal asked with dread.

Still watching the sleeping ranger, Neeshka said, curiosity thick in her voice: "You and him... did you really...?"

"Really what?", Chantal said, feeling her cheeks heat up. Damn Casavir! Did he have to tell Neeshka?

"You know what! Did you really..." her voice fell to a whisper, "...sleep with him?"

_Oh hells!_

"Well, yes", she mumbled, her eyes on the ground, cheeks flaming. "Once!"

"Wow!", Neeshka squeaked, then lowered her voice again. "And?"

"And what?"

"Was he... well, good?"

"Neeshka!"

"Sorry", the tiefling said. And after a pause: "And, _was_ he?"

Chantal groaned. "You're not going to let this go, aren't you?"

"No", Neeshka said cheerily.

_I'm going to kill Casavir for telling her.__ How does he know, anyway?_

She knew Neeshka well enough to know she would not let go before she had her answer. The sooner Chantal told the tiefling what she wanted to know, the sooner they could drop this embarrassing topic. She sighed and resigned to her fate.

"Yes", she mumbled.

Neeshka considered that for a moment.

"How good?"

"What?"

"Well, was he that-was-nice-good, or let's-do-this-again-soon-good, or oh-yes-please-more-good, or was he oh-gods-I'm-going-to-die-good?"

"I can't believe you're asking me this!"

"No? Why not?"

"Ok, you're right. It's exactly the thing you would ask."

Neeshka grinned. "Yes, but you have not answered me yet."

Oh my. Neeshka really was not letting this go. Chantal groaned again.

"Fine. I'm-going-to-die-good.", she said, her face bright red.

"I _knew_ it! Just _look_ at him!", Neesha squealed triumphantly.

"_What?_I cant' believe you're saying this!"

"Why? I always thought he must be good. All that caged energy must be good for _something_."

Chantal groaned for the third time. This certainly was the most insane conversation she had had for a long time.

"I thought you hated him?"

"Well, I do! And you should, too. He murdered you, after all. But he's still _so_ hot! Have you looked at that butt of his? Hmmmm."

"I'm not discussing Bishop's b... behind with you!"

"Why not?" Neeshka's gaze still was on the ranger. "It's really a very nice butt, so firm and well-formed... and he has the two most perfect dimples there..." Her hands modelled something curving slightly inside. "And the rest of his body is just as nice..."

"Neeshka...?", Chantal asked, menacingly. "How do _you_ know all that?"

Neeshka's gaze reverted to Chantal at last, grinning like a cat in front of the cream pot. "Watched him taking a bath sometimes. Watched all the men. Well, except for Khelgar of course, because, eeeeew. And Grobnar, for the same reason. That Sand was not bad, either. Bit small and slight, perhaps, but not bad. And Casavir...", she sighed wistfully. "Well, but you know _that_."

Chantal broke into helpless laughter. "You really are impossible, you know?"

"Yes", grinned Neeshka. "But never mind." Her face turned serious suddenly. "Be careful, will you? I don't want to see you hurt like that again. You can't trust him. Even if he _is_ oh-gods-good."

"I know", Chantal said, taking Neeshka's hand and squeezing it again. "I _don't _trust him. And I'll get rid of him as soon as possible. As soon as we don't need him anymore. When we're out of Luskan territory."

Neeshka's eyes searched her face, doubt very visible on her own. "I sure hope you do. Because I have to say, I really don't like him near, free and armed. Bound and gagged would be so much better."

"He saved your life, Neeshka", Chantal said, quietly.

"Maybe", Neeshka said, sceptically. "Ever wondered why?"

"All the time."

"And what do you think?"

"I have absolutely no idea", Chantal replied honestly.

"Well then, there you have it. As long as you don't know his motives, you should be very careful. Believe me. I know enough shifty people to know what I am talking about."

"You're right. And I will get rid of him." She yawned. "After I got some sleep. I'm so tired, I think I'm going to fall over in a minute."

"My watch anyway. Just go to sleep. I'm going to wake Casavir later."

Chantal smiled at the tiefling and got up. "Thanks. Good night."

"Good night", Neeshka answered, and added: "Nice dreams!", with a saucy smile.

Smiling and shaking her head, Chantal made it to her bedroll and laid down. Despite her troubled mind, sleep claimed her nearly instantly.


	21. Chapter 21 Departure

Casavir sat by the fire, dagger in his hand, his thumb softly stroking the blade. His eyes were on the sleeping form of the ranger. He felt hate forming a bitter, acidic knot in his stomach.

_I wish I had killed him when I had my dagger at his throat._

It would have prevented so much damage if he had done it there and then. Chantal would never have known. No one would have known but him. Sure, it would have caused him to fall, for a paladin, murder was out of the question. Tyr kind of frowned upon paladins who started murdering people.

But in hindsight, he thought it might have been worth it. Chantal would never have seen Bishop, and the cursed ranger would not have been able to work whatever spell he had on her again.

_And I'm going to fall for what I will do now anyway._

He swallowed, trying to work up the courage to cover the few steps separating him from the bastard and do what needed to be done. His hands shook slightly.

_If it had not been for him, Neeshka would be dead by now._

His hand clenched around the dagger, the blade cutting slightly into his thumb. He flinched and relaxed his grip. Indecision battled in him. He wanted to do it. The hateful knot in is stomach demanded that he slit the ranger's throat, rejoicing at the thought of seeing the hated face twist in pain, of seeing the worthless blood seep into the ground. Rejoicing at the thought that Casavir's face, watching him die, would be the last thing the bastard saw in this world.

But his scruples, his conscience, everything that was _him_, screamed at those images, holding him back with the same force his hate propelled him forwards, until he felt he would be ripped in half. He groaned silently, torn between those two so contradictory urges.

In his mind, he saw Chantal and the ranger in the alley. He saw them squatting by the cold fireplace, staring at each other. He saw the ranger lying in the dirt after she kicked him down, throwing her a look of pure hate. He saw him, bent backwards over the water trough, Casavir's dagger at his throat, spewing vile words.

And at last, he saw Chantal, dying in his arms, after the godsdamned son of a bitch sliced her open.

The last image did it. He would not risk that happening again. He could see Chantal's watchfulness slipping, could see her letting her guard down. That Bishop had not turned against them until now did not mean he would not soon. And it did not make up for his deeds before. The bastard was going to die.

Now.

He wished there was another way. Wished he could just walk up at the bastard, tell him to get his weapons out and bash his brains in a fight one on one. But he could not do that. Chantal would never let it happen.

So, this was how it was to be.

Steeling himself, Casavir got up and took the few steps separating him from Bishop as silently as possible. He knelt down next to the sleeping man, clutching the hilt of his dagger between his suddenly moist fingers. He could feel his breath quickening and tried to force himself to breathe steadily, silently. He looked down at the ranger, lying on his back, an arm thrown over his head, hand open and fingers curled upwards, his breathing deep and even, face relaxed in sleep. Practically offering his throat to Casavir.

_Go on, do it!_

He gritted his teeth, the sane part of his brain still screaming at him that this was madness, screaming at him to stop, but he shut it out, conjuring the image of Chantal, dead in his arms, again. It did a lot to mute his conscience.

He slowly drew back the hand with the dagger, preparing for the killing strike.

The sound of a throat being cleared made him whirl around.

Neeshka was standing by the fire, hands on her hips, eyebrows drawn so high they practically vanished in her hairline.

They stared at each other for some endless moments, then Neeshka indicated to the edge of the camp with a sharp movement of her head.

Not knowing if he felt relieved, guilty or disappointed, Casavir got up to follow her, throwing one last hateful glance at the still sleeping ranger. Then he moved over to Neeshka, who awaited him with a watchful expression on her face. When he reached her, she turned and stepped farther into the forest. He swallowed and went after her.

Behind them, Bishop's eyes opened, the firelight reflecting in the amber of his irises, as he watched them go.

xxx

"What the hells do you think you are doing?", Neeshka hissed as soon as they were out of the imminent earshot of the two still sleeping at the camp.

"Putting to rest a murderous, bloodthirsty animal!", he replied, angrily. Even if that anger resulted primarily out of the guilt he felt.

"Have you lost your mind? You can't do that!"

"I can, and I will.", he said, trying to sound more sure of himself than he actually felt.

Her face went soft and she put a hand on his arm.

"Please don't", she said, her voice full of sorrow.

"Why?", he asked, hurt. "Don't tell me that you are a victim of his – to me inconceivable – charms as well? I thought you hated him! Don't you want him dead?"

She giggled. "His charms? Hardly. I'm a victim of that – very conceivable – paladin charm, remember?"

He could not help but smile a bit. "I should hope so. But then, why don't you want him dead? He deserves to die!"

She shrugged. "Oh, he sure does, no question. And I could care less about what happens to him, after all he did to Chantal." She stepped closer, putting her arms around his neck, looking up into his face. "But I care what becomes of you, stupid. And if you do what you tried to do – it will kill you as well. You won't be able to live with yourself afterwards."

He drew her into his arms, resting his face in her hair, drawing in her scent. It helped to soothe his nerves a bit, and he sighed. "You're right", he whispered. "Of course you are right. But what am I supposed to do? I can't just stand by and watch it happen all over again!"

She laid her head back, so she could look into his face again, her hand stroking his cheek. "And do you think that Chantal will thank you, if you kill him in his sleep?"

He stared down on her, knowing very well the answer to that was no. "I thought I was supposed to be the wise one, here."

She giggled again. "You're rubbing off on me."

"So it seems", he said with a small, reluctant smile. "But there must be something I can do!"

"Pray?", she said. "You're supposed to do that, anyway, so I'm sure you can work in a few extra prayers easily."

"This is hardly a laughing matter, my love."

Her lips twitched. "No, I suppose not." Then her face went serious. "Chantal is very capable of looking out for herself. And she knows to be wary this time. I'm sure she won't let it happen again. But if she decides to trust him… I'm afraid there is nothing you _can_ do. Murdering him will end much more than his life, think of that. Think what it would mean for your friendship with Chantal. And… think of what it would mean to us. To me."

He stared down, then sighed in defeat. "You really are the wise one", he said, bending his head, drawing her close, searching her mouth with his lips for a soft, tender kiss.

She snorted. "Who'd have thought?", she murmured into his mouth.

xxx

Come morning, Bishop thoughtfully collected his things into his backpack. Such a shame the demon girl had interrupted last night. He so had been waiting for the paladin to make his move; feigning sleep, waiting for that little intake of breath, that nearly imperceptible movement of air that indicated that the blow was about to be dealt...

_Pity, really. I would have loved to punch his lights out._

_He's much stronger than you, and he had a dagger. You should be thankful._

He shrugged inwardly. Maybe, but it still would have done him a world of good to throw a few punches into that oh-so-holy face, even if it meant receiving some himself.

_Not so holy last night, though._

The thought made him smile cruelly. True, was it? Not so holy, trying to slit his throat while he was supposedly sleeping. An interesting development, that. Who'd have thought the wimp had it in him? Nearly forced him to feel some respect.

Nearly.

Still, it changed things. Made him think that maybe he should take his leave a bit earlier than expected.

_Like today._

He frowned at the thought. Today? They were still deep in Luskan territory. Better to stay some more days, to see that she made it safely out.

_Bright idea. You sure _you_ are going to make it safely out, if you stay?_

He snorted. The day that oaf managed to sneak up on him, he _deserved_ to die.

_Fair enough. But what with the other matter?_

_She's not with the paladin. She's free, as far as I know._

_Makes it worse, it does!_

His eyes sought the ice queen, gathering her stuff, talking to the demon, who giggled in that irritating way of hers. The by now familiar tightness built up in his chest while he watched her. He still could not believe that the walking tin was not her lover.

_How? Since when?_

As if she had felt his gaze upon her, her head turned and she met his eyes. She smiled. His heart stopped, then started to race.

_Damn her!_

How could she do this to him, with just a smile? He was not eighteen anymore! He forced his habitual scowl on his face and tore his eyes away, concentrating on packing his things. That decided the matter. He would leave them today. At the first opportunity.

Unfortunately, as usual, he had to take the lead. Even he found it hard to slip away unnoticed while people walked behind him, watching him. So he walked on, not talking to anyone, just grunting if the ice queen addressed him, biding his time. Luckily the other two were so engrossed in each other they left him alone. Not that the paladin would have talked to him in any case, but the demon could get downright annoying with her chatter. And with that thick hide of hers, even his best scowl could not shut her up.

To his relief, the ice queen was another matter. After receiving the third noncommittal grunt when she tried to talk to him, she shut up and trudged after him in silence.

It was late afternoon when they reached a small brook. The demon gave one of her galling squeals – how could the paladin stand that all the time? – and dashed forward, dropping to her knees beside the water, drinking greedily. The paladin followed, goofy grin on his face as he watched the goat girl.

_Whipped._

The idiot. Letting himself be led around by his nose by the little demon brat. Bishop snorted.

The ice queen walked up to the other two, watching them with a wistful smile. Again, his chest tightened as he looked at her, finding himself wanting to move forward, to touch that gleaming white hair, to trail his fingers down the soft curve of her neck. He swallowed.

_So, who's whipped now?_

_Me? Whipped? You're crazy!_

If an inner voice could snicker, that one did.

Enough! This was getting beyond amusing. Besides, no one was watching him right now. That was his moment. He better not miss it. Clenching his teeth against the sudden heaviness of his heart, his eyes wandered over her graceful form for the last time, drinking in her sight, as if trying to memorise every detail. At last, he let his gaze linger on her face as she crouched down to drink herself.

Then he melted into the trees like a ghost, making not the slightest sound.


	22. Chapter 22 Disappearing Act

Chantal knelt by the brook, smiling as she watched Casavir and Neeshka. They looked so happy together...

And for the first time in many months, her heart went heavy watching them.

She was happy for them. She really was. She hoped they would live a long and blissful life together.

But it made her feel like something was missing in her own life.

_If only someone would look at me the way Casavir is looking at Neeshka right now..._

As if she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

_I've been living alone for too long._

Involuntarily, her head turned, her eyes seeking for the ranger standing behind them. Only he wasn't. Standing behind them.

_Where is he?_

She got up and went some steps back, to the place she had seen him last, looking around searchingly. Still she could see no trace of him. There it was again, the uneasy feeling in her stomach, the same feeling she had experienced when Bishop made his last disappearing act, so long ago.

_Don't be stupid. Maybe he just felt nature call. He'll be back._

If only she could believe it. She remembered the strange mood he had been in the whole day. Not angry, apparently, just... distant, withdrawn. Refusing to talk, or even to look at her. And somehow, she thought she sensed sadness in him. Something definitely had been off.

He was gone. She just knew it.

What surprised her was the sharp pain she felt at the thought. It felt like a dagger piercing her heart. And her stomach seemed to have contracted into one tight, heavy, aching ball. And there was a sting in her eyes...

_Stupid bitch! Be glad you got rid of him so easily!_

Yes! Very true. She should be glad. And she was. Or... would be. In a moment. When the tears threatening to well up had been forced back.

She heard steps behind her, inhaled deeply and forced something on her face she hoped was composure.

"Where's the ranger?", Casavir's deep voice came from behind her.

Chantal kept her back to him. Better not to let him see her face. "Don't know", she just said, proud that she had managed two words in a steady voice. 

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

She shrugged, her back still to him. "I mean he's just not here."

"You think he's... gone?" The hopeful tone in Casavir's voice made her want to slap him.

_Relax, it's not his fault. Besides, he's right._

_Then why does this hurt so much?_

_Because you're stupid, that's why._

She could not argue with that. 

She just shrugged. Casavir's hands went on her shoulders. 

"If he's gone, then that's for the best", he said softly, obviously feeling her distress, even as she kept her face from him. Or maybe _because_ she kept her face from him.

She leaned back, into his broad chest, laying back her head at his shoulder, closing her eyes, and sighed.

"I know. Let's hope he won't be back, so we won't have to worry about him anymore. He's served his purpose."

Her eyes still closed, Chantal heard Neeshka's light steps catching up to them. "Where's Mr. Dagger-Happy?", the tiefling piped.

Despite the pain in her heart, Chantal had to smile. She detached herself from Casavir and said: "Not around, luckily for you, or he might try his dagger on you for that remark."

"Ha!", Neeska replied. "He _could_ try! But where is he?"

Chantal shrugged again, the short moment of amusement gone. "Let's camp here, it's afternoon and we won't go much farther anyway. And at least there's water here. We'll see if he comes back. If not, all the better."

_Sure._

xxx

Maybe an hour later, Chantal walked a short way along the brook, looking for a good place to take a bath – or at least wash. She felt so dirty, and probably there still was soot in her hair.

That made her think of the moment, sitting with Bishop at the cold fireplace, and the way he had looked at her. The fire in his eyes...

_Stop it, stupid. He's gone. And that's good._

Yes, yes, it sure was. But still... that fire, hot enough to burn her... igniting an answering fire, no less hot, in her belly...

_Stop it and take a cold bath. Gods know you need one. For more reason than one!_

She sighed, looking at the brook, forming a small pool here in a bend. She probably would not find a better place. This time, she very carefully looked around before she started undressing, but could not detect anyone. Neeshka had offered to accompany her, in case Bishop was lurking somewhere near, but Chantal had declined. She wanted some alone time. And the last thing she needed right now was Neeshka, starting to compare manly assets.

But no one was in sight. She did not know if she felt relieved or disappointed. Both, if she was honest with herself. Still, that she could not detect anyone did not mean Bishop was not around. She would not see him if he did not want her to. The thought that he might be watching made her heart beat faster as she started to pull her chain shirt over her head.

_Gods, you don't learn, do you?_

_Yes, I do! And I'm glad he's gone, alright?_

But she had to admit that the thought lacked a certain amount of conviction.

She stepped into the water, shivering a bit at the cold, and settled down. Sitting, it came up to her waist. She leaned back, dipping her head under the water, enjoying the cool after she got used to it, trying to rinse away the dirt of the last few days.

_And which kind of dirt are we thinking of?_

_Oh, leave me be! The conventional kin__d!_

And she realised it was true. Thinking of the moment in the alley, of what she had done with Bishop, did not feel dirty anymore. Instead, she felt... longing. 

_His mouth on hers, his hands on her skin, his desperate moans..._

_Stop that!_

_His scent, the feel of his smooth skin under her hands, of his wiry, well muscled body against hers..._

Sitting up with a yell of frustration, she resolutely started scrubbing her skin.

xxx

Bishop swiftly made his way through the trees, careful not to leave a trail behind.

_Not that any of them could follow the trail of a herd of stampeding cattle._

Not that any of them would _want_ to follow him.

The thought hurt. Why did it hurt? Since when did he care what others thought of him? He did not like the feeling at all. Hurt and him just did not go together. Hurt for others, plenty. But not for him. Never for him.

How did she do it? How did she break through his shell so easily? He hated her for it. She was the only one who could just duck under all his defences and go right for his throat. 

_Luckily you got away in time._

Oh yes. Very, very lucky. And he would not go back this time. This time, he would leave for good. For his _own_ good. Calimshan really did sound just far away enough.

_Hmmm... they are supposed to have beautiful women down there._

He imagined voluptuous bodies, long, dark hair, liquid black eyes, full red lips and smirked. Oh yes, definitely the place for him. And no one knew him down there. He would not be hunted anymore. Not by Luskan, not by Neverwinter. A fresh start. With no enemies.

Well, at least at first. Knowing himself, that state would not last – he was really good at making enemies.

_M__akes life more interesting._

It sure did. And around here, his life had gotten a bit more interesting than what was healthy. So he would be off. Good riddance to them all. The blustery paladin, the annoying demon girl, and the icy bitch from hell. He was glad he never would have to see any of them again.

_Sure._

xxx

Later, he sat by a small fire, gnawing on the last bits of the rabbit he had caught. It was nice to be on his own again, out in the woods, just him and nature. No constant bickering, no snide remarks, and most of all, no haughty commands from the _Captain_. Oh yes, this was so much better. It was the way he had chosen to live his life. Relying on his own strength, living off his wits and cunning, nobody's servant, nobody's fool. Taking orders from no one. Going where he wanted. Doing what pleased him. Freedom.

Yes, freedom. At last. It was what he wanted.

So why did he feel less than happy? The heaviness did not want to leave his chest. There was an ache in his heart that just did not go away. He felt like he was missing something. Incomplete. 

_Alone._

_You kidding me? I _like_ alone. Alone is what I _do

He was _always_ alone! Even when he was with others, he was alone. It was how he chose to be. It was how he _wanted_ to be. No one to grate on his nerves. No one to weigh him down. No one to get into his way.

_No one to make __me weak._

Just him. _Alone_.

_Lonely._

_What? I don't even know the meaning of that word!_

Lonely! Ridiculous. Only someone who _wanted_ company could be lonely. And he certainly did _not_ want company. He threw the last rabbit bone into the fire and laid down on his blankets, staring up into the night sky, some stars twinkling between the leaves of the trees.

He forced his mind back to the enticing vision of Calimshan women. Supple. Soft. Cute and slender. Small. Not tall and strong. Small and cute. So much better. He closed his eyes, imagining his hands running over a lithe, dark skinned body, through long dark hair. Imagined kissing full soft lips, imagined the excited moans when he pressed the woman near, imagined her hands on him, digging into his back, urging him to go on, imagined the desire in pale blue eyes...

He let out a howl when he realised the woman had turned into _her_ in his mind and sat up, clutching his hair in frustration. This could not be! How? Why? 

_Make it stop!_

_Make her go away!_

But it was no use. He could still smell her, taste her, feel her. Her mouth on his, her moans, her scent, her hands on his body, the heat radiating off her, the way she pressed against him, how he had _wanted_ her...

Still wanted her. His breath had gone short with the images, and his breeches had grown uncomfortably tight. And he felt a burning in his body, so strong it hurt.

With a groan of despair, he got up, grabbed his weapons, and ran into the night, back the way he had come.


	23. Chapter 23 Lone Wolf

Chantal stood up, stretching her aching limbs. Night watch surely was a drag, so boring it drove her mad. No one to talk to, nothing to do.

Nothing to distract her from her thoughts.

She missed Bishop. So much it hurt. Why? How could it be? She did not understand herself anymore. She tried to banish the longing, tried to remember what he had done to her, his betrayal, his murder, the cold and unfeeling look he had given her as she lay bleeding at his feet, dying, killed by his hand...

...but it was of no use. Her head told her she should be glad he was gone. Other parts of her felt different. She hated him for what he had done. She still did not trust him.

But she wanted him. No denying that.

_It's just my body that wants him._

Right. That would pass. And it probably only was because she had been living alone for too long. She would leave her voluntary exile in the Mere, she would live among people again. She would meet some nice man. And then she would never think of a certain ranger again.

Movement caught her eye, and she whirled round, hand on her sword. A tall, dark figure was standing at the edge of the camp, just outside the glow of the fire. Her heart missed a beat, then started racing madly. The hurt vanished like a puff of smoke, to be replaced by a jittery feeling.

She knew that figure. Would have recognised him anywhere.

_He's __come back!_

Slowly, carefully, she moved towards him, her eyes never leaving him. Soon, she could make out his mahogany hair, and his wolf eyes, glinting and reflecting the light of the fire.

She stopped, several steps away from him, and they stood, staring at each other. Then she spoke, her voice slightly hoarse:

"Where's your dagger?"

He held out his hands, open, empty.

"No dagger", he replied, equally hoarse.

Her eyes fell to the scimitars, hanging by his side. His lips curled, and he pulled them out of their sheaths, letting them fall to the ground.

Still she did not move, just looked at him. He gave a soft laugh. The sound made her shiver.

"You know me too well", he murmured, crooked smile on his face, as he reached down with both hands, pulling a dagger from each boot. They, too, fell to the ground.

She retreated some steps, away from the weapons on the ground, her eyes holding his. He shook his head, still smiling, and followed her.

"You _do_ learn", he said. "I really am proud of you."

"Why are you here, Bishop?", she asked, softly.

He stalked closer, until he was just one step away, and she could see his face in the dark, the light in his amber eyes, anything but cold now, burning with some emotion she chose not to dwell on. The gash on his cheek she had given him a lifetime ago, starting to heal, but surely leaving a scar. His mouth, lips parted slightly. And she could hear his breathing, quick and shallow.

Her gaze wandered to his eyes again, and he held it, one of his hands reaching out, touching her hair softly, then running through the short, tangled tresses, fingers trailing down, over her ear, down her neck, slightly stroking the sensitive skin. Again, she shivered.

"You know why I am here", he said, his voice low and vibrating ever so slightly.

She held his gaze, swallowing as something started to burn deep inside her. How could he do this to her, just with his voice?

"Tell me", she said, willing her own voice to be steady.

He took another step, their bodies now nearly touching, his eyes never leaving hers. "Just one more time", he whispered, the fire in his eyes searing her.

_Oh gods_.

She had to close her eyes to keep him from seeing the desire in them. Then she found herself pulled forward, into his arms, pressed against his body, and his mouth found hers in a wild kiss. His hands grabbed her hips, roughly pulling them against his own, and she could feel how hard he already was. She moaned slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing closer.

He practically dragged her back into the woods, and after a couple of steps started shedding her armour and clothes. Her hands shook as they sought the buckles of his own armour, and she only knew she had to get rid of it, of every shred of clothing that kept them apart, had to feel him, feel his skin on hers, _now_.

Finally, the last piece of cloth gone, they fell to the ground, bodies clashing, and it was all made even more frantic by the need to keep silent, because just a few yards away, Neeshka and Casavir were sleeping. Chantal buried her face in Bishop's shoulder to stifle her moans. It was just as she remembered it, the wildness, the need, the passion. His strong body above her, his hands pressing her close, his hot breath gasping into her ear, whispering "_yes, yes, oh yes_" over and over again... it was too much. She cried out, muffled, into his skin, and she felt him tensing, his teeth sinking into her neck, repressing a scream as he shuddered above her. For a moment, he stayed like this, not moving, his breathing still ragged. Then he rolled to his side, taking her with him, holding her close against his chest, his face buried in her hair.

She clung to him, breathing his scent, feeling safe in his arms. Feeling _home_.

The last thought scared her to no end. She flinched. He lifted his head, and she felt his hand under her chin, tugging slightly.

"Look at me", he murmured softly.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his. There was a soft, warm light in them that touched something deep inside her, and she could not look away, her anxiety forgotten. He ran his hand over her cheek.

"Gods, you are so beautiful", he whispered. He bent his head, his eyes closing again, as he searched for her mouth. The kiss was different this time, soft, tender, lingering. His hands started to wander over her body, slowly exploring, softly stroking. It felt so good, so _right_. Her hands slid up his back, over his strong shoulders, his neck, his soft short hair. He moaned into her mouth, and she could feel the desire for him rise again.

His mouth wandered to he ear, nibbling softy, sending shivers down her body. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and she heard him inhale sharply.

"Witch", he murmured, his breath quickening. His mouth went further down, softly biting the tender skin of her throat, and she shuddered, pressing closer, the need growing unbearable again.

"Bishop, please...", she panted, her hands running down his back, grabbing his buttocks, pulling him against her.

He growled, his teeth sinking harder into her skin for a second, then his lips found hers again.

"You drive me crazy", he rasped into her mouth, and she moaned, kissing him hungrily.

This time, it was slower, less frantic, but not by much. She held on to him, her hands buried in his hair, his mouth never leaving hers, panting short, chopped words, - "y_es... please... more... want you" _– while he thrust himself into her, quicker and quicker, his breathing ragged.

She felt her body tighten, her fingernails raking his back. "Bishop", she moaned, tearing her mouth from his, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to stifle her cries. It took him right over the edge with her, his jaw clenched to suppress his screams, burying himself deep within her with one last forceful thrust.

Collapsing, he pressed his face into her neck, trying to calm his breath.

"Witch", he gasped again.

Her arms went around his neck, holding him close to her, enjoying the feel of his weight on her.

It felt much too good.

He lay still for a couple of minutes. She could hear him breathing deep and deliberately, his face still buried at her shoulder.

Then his body tensed, and his hands went to the ground at her side, lifting his weight from her. She let go of his neck, seeking his eyes, but he would not look at her.

Dread settled in her stomach.

He got up, starting to collect his clothes, starting to dress. She lifted herself on her elbows, watching him, pain starting to build up in her, and she could not help but remember a scene, so long ago, where the roles had been very much reversed.

Had he felt the same pain then?

She did not think so. He was not one for pain, wasn't he? Not one for letting himself feel much of anything.

She wondered if she should say something, try to stop him, try to hold him back. But it would be of no use. If he wanted to stay, he would. If he wanted to go, nothing would stop him. She had given him what he came for. Now he would leave. Simple as that.

The pain in her stomach nearly made her sick. She felt like doubling over, pressing her hands to her aching stomach, but she would not let him see how much this was affecting her. Would not let him see how much it _hurt_.

Fighting the tears, she watched him picking up his weapons at last. Then, still without having given her as much as a glance, he passed her by, further into the woods. A couple of steps from her, he stopped.

"Farewell, Chantal", he said, without turning back. Then he vanished into the dark.

He had never used her name before. Not once.

That was when she knew that this time, he had left for good.

She choked back a sob, getting up herself at last, gathering her clothes and dressing with shaking hands. As she slowly made her way back to the camp, she passed the place where Bishop had let his weapons fall down. Something caught her eye, dark spot on the ground, nearly invisible in the dim light of the fire. She bent down, picking up the small object, examining it closely.

It was a wood carving, beautifully done, of a wolf, his head thrown back in a howl. Her hand closed around the carving, and at last, the tears started to flow.


	24. Chapter 24 Old Friends

As she returned to the fire, Chantal saw Neeshka sitting up, watching her approaching with an unreadable expression on her face. She got up and met Chantal halfway.

"So he has been back, huh?", she asked. Then she saw the tears streaming down Chantal's face, murmured something unintelligible and hugged her close.

"I'm so sorry", she whispered.

For a moment, Chantal hugged her back, then detached herself, resolutely wiping her tears away.

"Did you…", she asked, her voice still shaking.

"Hear you? Oh, yes", Neeshka replied, the grin back on her face for a moment. "What's more, I had to look if you were alright. So I _saw_ you, too. He's sure got fire. Made me feel downright envious. Would not mind some of that, myself."

"Be careful what you wish for", Chantal replied, bitterly.

The grin vanished. "Oh, I'm so sorry… sometimes my mouth just runs on without consulting my brain first." The sheepish look on Neeshka's face would have made Chantal laugh, if the pain had not been so bad.

Her eyes went to Casavir, seemingly still sleeping soundly. "Has he…"

"He? No, he slept through the whole thing. Takes more than that to wake him, believe me."

Chantal closed her eyes in relief. "Thank the gods for that."

Neeshka nodded. "Oh yes. I think he would have taken it badly."

Chantal sighed and sat down besides the fire. Neeshka followed.

"What will you do now?", the tiefling asked, unusually solemn.

Chantal shrugged. "Don't know. Go back home. Try to get back to my life. Try to get over it." Her voice caught at the last sentence.

"I'm so sorry you have to go through that again", Neeshka said, sincerely. "And it is all my fault for being stupid enough to try to sneak into Luskan."

Chantal shook her head. "No, it's not your fault. It's my own, for letting him in again. How could I have been so foolish? Still, it could have been worse", she added, bitterness in her voice. "At least this time, I'm still alive."

Neeshka took her hand and squeezed it. "You're not foolish. We can't choose who we love."

Chantal stared at her with wide eyes.

_Love?_

She could feel the blood drain from her face, as a feeling of horror slowly crept up on her.

_Love?_

The way her heart had stopped when she first saw him again, walking up to her.

The unexpected tenderness she sometimes felt when he looked hurt or vulnerable.

The way his laugh made her whole body tingle.

The way her desire flared at his touch.

The way she had missed him when he left, feeling empty, incomplete.

The way seeing him again had instantly banished all the hurt.

The tender, safe feeling of _belonging_ when he held her close.

_Love._

She closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands, the little wooden wolf clattering to the ground. How could that happen? Of all the men she had met, good men, handsome, nice men, why had her heart decided it belonged to the one that would break it as certainly as night followed the day?

Next to her, Neeshka bent down, picking up the carving. "This is beautiful", she said after a moment, wonder in her voice. "Did he give it to you?"

"He left it on the ground", Chantal answered, still dazed by her realisation. "I think it's his farewell present. Guess he wanted to tell me something."

"Guess so", Neeshka said, her hand squeezing Chantal's shoulder in sympathy.

"Yes", Chantal said, feeling the tears rise again. "I'm getting the message, loud and clear."

"You should get some sleep", Neeshka said, stroking her back.

Chantal shook her head. "No, I can't right now. You go back to sleep. I'll wake you in the morning."

"I can stay up too, keep you company?"

"No! Sorry, no, but I need some time alone right now."

Neeshka sighed, patting her back once more, then she got up. "Ok, I understand. But you will get over it, you hear? We will be there for you. Don't let it break you."

Chantal just shook her head, unable to speak.

xxx

Bishop ran through the woods, as if all nine levels of hell were on his heels. Arriving at his camp, exhausted and completely out of breath, he started to pack his stuff frantically, throwing everything into his backpack, rolling up his blankets haphazardly. Then, hastily kicking some dirt over the smouldering remains of his fire, he quickly made it further into the night.

_Have to get away!_

And he had to. Had to run, had to keep moving. Had to keep himself from thinking. From feeling. Most of all from feeling.

His mind racing, turning over the last hours over and over again, he hurried through the woods, not minding where his path took him, not paying attention to anything around him. He just walked as fast as he could. It did not matter where he went, as long as he increased the distance between him and her.

He remembered how it had felt to hold her close, his face buried in her neck, her arms around him, snuggled close against his chest. Breathing in her scent, feeling… contented. Feeling like he never wanted to let go again. Feeling like he never wanted to leave.

Oh, she was dangerous.

Leaving her behind had been one of the hardest things he had done in his life. And that was saying something. But nothing, _nothing_ had ever cost him as much as walking into the empty night, without as much as a glance back.

But he could not look at her. Could not afford to turn around. Because if he had, he would not have been able to go. He could still feel the pull, the invisible strings that seemed to tighten with every step he took, trying to draw him back to her.

She had him in chains, as sure as Luskan had had him years ago. Only her chains were invisible.

_Those are the worst kind._

Oh yes, they were. Because this sort of chains was so much harder to fight. You could escape the customary kind. But these – you took them with you, wherever you went. They shackled your spirit, not your body.

_Those__ kept you in Luskan as well._

Only it had not felt like chains at the time.

_I can't! I can't go through that any more._

_I swore myself never to let it happen again._

Fighting the ever growing urge to turn around, run back, back to her, he kept walking through the night. Through the following day. Still not caring, not watching, where he went. Come evening, he was so exhausted, physically as well as mentally, he was stumbling on much more than walking. When he could not take another step, he just dropped to the ground, asleep nearly instantly.

In his dream, she was with him again. He felt her arms around him, her mouth, kissing him hungrily, her hands clutching his hair, her body, arching against him... He woke, gasping, heart racing, full of desire.

He sat up, cursing her, cursing himself, got to his feet and started out into the still dark night. He had no idea where he was, but he would just walk until he came to the next settlement. He knew what he needed right now.

Late in the afternoon, he came to the edge of the wood. Looking around, he nearly started to laugh hysterically.

_This is a joke, right?_

He could not be _here_, of all places. Impossible.

But no amount of rubbing his tired, burning eyes made the sight of the sturdy walls of Crossroad Keep, looming ahead, go away. Seemed like even his own mind liked to play cruel jokes on him, otherwise it would not have led him here.

He took in the fortifications, the massive walls he had stood on with her so many times, discussing tactics, the enemy, her past, everything.

_Good times._

Good times? Nonsense! He had just been biding his time, trying to find out what she knew about him. Waiting for the opportune moment to get rid of her.

Still, in some aspects, it _had_ been good times. It had felt good to have a purpose again, a goal. Even if this whole Stopping-The-Shadow-King had been madness in his eyes, it had been good to make use of his abilities again, to pursue something, instead of just drifting aimlessly, only trying to avoid being caught by Luskan troops. Had been good to have a purpose in life.

Had been good to be near her.

He realised he had started walking again, already having crossed nearly half the distance to the Keep.

_Stop it, idiot! What are you doing?_

He stopped in his tracks. This was madness, nearly as insane as walking into Luskan.

_But they won't be expecting me here. Nearly everyone gone who knew me._

_And they will have what I need there, in the tavern._

He looked ahead, at the grey walls that seemed to beckon to him. And continued on his way. Maybe they would catch him. What the hell. He just did not care.

Later, he sat in a dark corner of the tavern, a bottle in front of him, already half empty. His lips curled in a bitter smile. His life surely seemed to go in circles. It had actually hurt, seeing this place again. It was ridiculous. It was just stones and timber, right? And the memories could go straight to hell, for all he cared.

Getting in had been easier than he thought. The new guards sure were no match to the old ones. They had let him pass with barely a glance.

_If they were mine, I'd have them flogged._

Getting into the tavern, he had his hood drawn up. And sure enough, there was Sal, still behind the counter. He had thrown Bishop a suspicious glance when he had ordered the bottle, but had not recognised him. And now he was sitting here, the strong alcohol already making for a nice buzz in his head.

_Guess I'm going to sleep better tonight._

He smiled again, mirthlessly, and downed the next shot. And another. And a third. Now he was seeing two bottles standing before him, weaving in and out of each other. He reached out for it, when the conversation of the two Greycloaks sitting at the table next to him reached his ear.

He frowned, trying to concentrate on what they were saying.

"Gods, that new Captain sure is a shrew."

The other man groaned. "Tell me about it. I liked the last one better. Pity she did not come back."

Bishop turned on his chair, towards the Greycloaks. He grabbed the bottle and took a long swig.

The first one grinned lewdly. "More pleasing to look at, too. Would have loved helping myself to a piece of _that_ ass."

The ranger's blurred gaze left the bottle in his hand and started to focus on the speaker.

The second Greycloak chuckled. "Oh yes, me too. The way she always had either the paladin or that creepy ranger in tow... she sure had an appetite."

Bishop's hands clenched around the neck of the bottle. He slowly moved his chair back from the table.

"You don't say", the first one leered. "One man was not enough for that one. If ever I've seen a slut..."

Bishop jumped up, his chair falling with a crash behind him, bottle smashing on the floor. The sudden movement made him stagger as the room seemed to spin before his eyes, but his fist shot out nevertheless. His aim a bit off, it connected with the Greycloak's ear instead of his chin, but it still was enough to make the man go down.

Murderous rage burning in him, he snarled and threw himself upon the man on the floor, his hands going round his throat, an angry red mist dancing before his eyes. He started squeezing, _squeezing_ until the son of a bitch stopped moving. And still he would not let go, only dimly aware of the shouts around him.

Then something connected sharply with the back of his head, and the room went dark.

Sal, cudgel in hand, stood above the unconscious man on the floor. The hood had fallen back to reveal messy brown hair and a face that was thinner than he remembered, but still very much familiar.

"Well, look who decided to visit!", he said.


	25. Chapter 25 Angel

Bishop woke to a thundering headache. Groaning, he tentatively touched his head and flinched when his fingers found a very sore spot at the back of his head. Obviously this was more than the usual hangover…

He tried to pierce the fog that clouded his mind. Slowly the previous evening came back to him. Walking up to Crossroad Keep, fully aware of the madness of his actions. Entering the tavern, ordering a bottle, working his way through its contents. The memories got fuzzier here, but he seemed to remember some Greycloaks, talking at the table next to him. Talking about _her_… insulting her. Red hot rage rising in him, because the dogs _dared_ to speak of her that way. He remembered his hands round the throat of one of them, fully intending to squeeze the last bit of life out of the filthy scum. Shutting him up for good, so the swine would never sully her with his dirty words again.

Bishop groaned again, this time for a very different reason.

_Gods help me, I'm turning into the paladin, rushing in to defend her hono__ur!_

_And I guess I will pay dearly for that._

He opened his eyes and flinched as even the dim light of his surroundings sent daggers into his brain. He blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision. He took in the ceiling, made of roughly hewn stones, and the small window high up in the wall, adorned with massive iron bars. He also became aware of a damp, musty smell.

_Gao__l._

The moment he thought that, he heard movement, the unmistakable clanking of heavy armour.

"Well, awake at last, I see", a cold, female voice reached his ears.

Very carefully, Bishop sat up, so that his head won't split with the movement. Still, for a moment, it felt like it would, and he clutched at it, cursing under his breath.

"I see you're in pain. Good. There will be more to come, I can assure you.", the female voice said.

He knew that voice. Still careful not to make any sudden movements, he slowly lifted his head and turned to face the speaker. He saw more sturdy bars, substituting for a wall of the little room. And behind that, a woman in armour, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, slanted brown eyes regarding him coldly.

_Kana._

"I can't tell you how happy that makes me, seeing you behind these bars, _my_ bars now. And it will make me even happier to see you dangling from the end of a rope, traitor. I'm Captain of this Keep now, and I will see to it that you will be brought to Neverwinter, to answer for all that you have done. This time, you will not be able to save your sorry hide, believe me."

He smirked at her, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. "I don't know if the Knight Captain will be happy with these news", he said.

She clutched the bars with both hands, bringing her face as close as possible, and he could see the cold hate burning in her eyes.

"Don't you _dare_ speak of her! The Knight Captain is dead, killed by your traitorous hand! And I will make you pay! With interest, believe me!"

With that, she turned and marched away, her fury visible in every forceful step.

Bishop stared after her, then let himself sink slowly back onto the cot. Kana thought the Knight Captain was _dead_? What was that all about?

Lying on his cot, his eyes closed against the pain in his head, Bishop could not help but smile cynically. Fate sure had a strange sense of humour. Here he was, the past catching up in very unexpected ways, about to pay for all the sins he had committed in his life. It seemed very unlikely that he would be able to wriggle out of this scrape again. They would watch him very closely. Not that he could blame them.

He barked out a short, humourless laugh, as the absurdity of it all hit him, then winced as his head threatened to split.

After all he had done in his life, it was his weakness for a woman that brought him down at last.

_Knew it would happen that way._

If you allowed yourself to develop a vulnerable spot, someone would find a way to exploit it. He'd learned that the hard way so long ago.

_Should have remembered that lesson better._

His mind wandered back all these years. Even after that long time, the memory was still fresh. As was the pain. Normally he did not allow himself to think about it. Kept the memories shoved as far down as they would go. But this time, lying in the dank cell with nothing to distract him, probably quite near the end of the twisted path that was his life, the thoughts would not be pushed away.

He was just returning from his first "mission" in the Luskan army. If you could call it that, being sent in first into battle with a horde of other kids that had been unfortunate enough to be caught and pressed into service. To be "honoured" with serving as sword fodder in the first wave of attack.

Bishop had been lucky to survive. Lots of others were not so lucky. He still remembered the senseless cruelty of it all, the cries and moans of the wounded and dying all around him, the clanging of metal against metal, the fear and pain, bitter taste in his mouth, as he hacked at everything that moved near him with the sword they had given him, only trying to keep them away, trying not to get hit, trying to stay alive somehow.

And he stayed alive. He did not know how, but after an eternity, the din of the battle seemed to abate, and he still was standing, while around him, the ground was covered with bloody bodies. Then someone came to collect the few survivors, and they were herded back to Luskan, to be patched together for their next assignment.

He remembered entering through the city gates, bloody, exhausted, hopeless, wishing he had died on the battlefield, just to have it over with. What was the point in surviving, when you knew you would just be sent out to die another day?

He had thought of running away. Of course he had. Who wouldn't? But they knew very well what went on in all the boys' heads. So they actually let one escape. Only for demonstrating what would happen to those who tried. They made them watch what happened after they dragged the poor sod back. It gave Bishop nightmares for weeks. And not one of the remaining tried to run away after that. Including Bishop.

So he had stayed, and fought, and survived, wishing he had died. Deciding that next time, he _would_ die, even if he had to find an enemy sword and impale himself on it. He would not go on like this, this wretched existence, a prisoner, used as a meat shield for the army proper.

And the moment he thought that, he saw her. With the horrors of battle still fresh in his mind, she had looked like an angel to him. Her long, blond hair falling in soft waves down her back, her blue eyes the colour of forget-me-nots, a shy smile on her face as she sold apples from a basket she was carrying to passers-by. He had stopped in his tracks, staring at her, the boy behind him colliding with him, because he had stopped so suddenly.

The commotion of course drew the guards, and he had received some painful blows with a stick for causing the delay. But this time, he barely registered the pain as he moved on, turning again and again to look at her. The proceedings had attracted her attention, and her eyes followed him as he was led away. To him, it was as if a ray of light had pierced the darkness that had surrounded him so long.

After that first assignment, they had decided they had better uses for him. The sergeant that had been with him obviously had reported that Bishop had a talent for killing. He was separated from the other boys, to be trained for special assignments. In other words, assassination. They had taught him how to read tracks, how to avoid sight, how to move silently through nearly every terrain. How to kill swiftly, effectively, soundlessly.

And he had been eager to learn. Training was hard, the trainers harsh, but Bishop had soaked up everything they had to teach him. Soon, he had earned some grudging respect. He became somewhat of a teacher's pet, because of his eagerness and talent. All the time thinking that they were teaching him exactly the skills he would need to be free of them one day.

The other upside was that because of his status as model student, he gained some freedom. The opportunity to move relatively unobserved within the confines of the city, for example. And the first thing he did when they allowed him some slack was looking for his angel. He searched the streets high and low, until at last he found her, selling apples from her basket again.

For some minutes he just stood and watched her, trying to work up enough courage to go and talk to her. Even after all these years, he remembered the staccato beat of his heart and the way his palms grew moist.

How old had he been? Seventeen? Eighteen? And he had had nearly no experience with women. Not many women around in the training camps, and the ones that were tended to wear canes and were happy to use them.

After a while, the girl seemed to feel his stare on her, and she looked up, into his eyes. He saw recognition there. She remembered him. And then she smiled, a sweet, shy smile, a bit of colour rising in her cheeks. He thought she was the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his life.

He walked up to her, his knees feeling like they were made of rubber. When he reached her, he stared down at her, a terrible blankness in his brain. He could not think of a single thing to say. The colour in her face grew deeper, and he could see her hands shaking slightly as she took an apple, offering it to him. He fumbled for some copper coins in his pocket, handing them to her, his heart beating madly as his fingers grazed her hand. He took the apple and practically fled before he stood before her any longer, tongue-tied like an idiot.

That night, he slept with an apple clutched to his heart.

Whenever they would let him out, he searched for her to buy an apple. After a while, his brain allowed him to say a couple of words to her without stuttering too much. He even managed to ask for her name. Sarah. It was the word that was on his mind when he went to his sleep, with a smile on his face. Flight from Luskan suddenly was far from his mind.

After they decided his training was complete, they started sending him out on special missions. Mostly going to other cities, to eliminate someone who stood in Luskan's way. Sometimes he had to sneak through enemy lines to assassinate some high-ranking soldier or other. These jobs were the more dangerous ones. But Bishop was really getting good at his job. And now, he had a reason to come back. A reason for wanting to survive. The vision of Sarah, her sweet smile, her beautiful face, kept him going, kept him fighting, kept him sane through the horrors of what he had to do. And he always made it back.

Then came the day when he stood before her, heart in his throat, the apple he just bought in hand, staring down into her lovely face, and without thinking he blurted it out.

_I love you._

Just like that. It just came out. He froze like a deer, ready to bolt if she started laughing at him She blushed crimson and looked down, but her hand slipped into his, squeezing softly. His apple fell to the ground as he reached out with his other hand, shaking badly, to touch her hair. She looked up then, into his face, adoration in her soft blue eyes, and he bent his head, his lips searching hers for a sweet, if clumsy kiss. His first kiss ever.

The pain of the memory still felt like a knife piercing his heart, even after all that time.

They had exchanged some silly vows of eternal love, like the children they were, and he had left, feeling like nothing could ever hurt him anymore.

He smiled bitterly. Gods, he had been so young. And still naïve, even after all that had happened to him.


	26. Chapter 26 Fire

The following day, when he approached Sarah, heart beating madly, he saw a man standing by her side, tall, with dark hair, some years older than Bishop. As he came nearer, he saw the man saying some words to her, making her flinch, then he purposefully strode forward towards Bishop, hands balled.

Without warning, his fist shot out, aiming for Bishop's chin. But the hard training had not been in vain. Bishop easily dodged the blow, seeing Sarah running to them, clutching the arm of the other man, calling out to him. "Vincent, no, please don't", she cried, tears in her eyes.

Bishop dodged more blows as Vincent continued to throw him punches, hindered by Sarah, clinging to him, but some of the blows still found their mark. After a painful hit to his face, Bishop's patience snapped, and his fist shot out as well, connecting with Vincent's chin. The other man went down, dazed.

Shaking his hurting hand, Bishop's gaze went to Sarah, who knelt besides the lying man, crying silently. "Sarah, who is he?", Bishop said, his stomach frozen with fear. She looked up at him.

"My brother", she sobbed. "I'm sorry, I did not want that to happen."

"Your brother?" His relief was so immense, he had to close his eyes for a moment.

She got up and came to him, nestling into his arm, just as the man on the ground sat up, shaking his head to clear it. Bishop pressed a tender kiss on her hair, then pushed her away slightly.

"Go", he had said. "Your brother and I will have a little talk."

Her eyes were wide and fearful.

"I'm not going to hurt him", Bishop said softly. "But I need to talk to him alone."

She nodded and ran away. The other man – Vincent – picked himself up from the ground, scowling. "You're not afraid I am going to hurt _you_?", he challenged.

Bishop regarded him calmly. "No", he just said, matter-of-factly.

Vincent stared at him, and Bishop could see the other man's mind working, trying to decide what to do.

"I would suggest we continue this conversation at a less public location, but it's up to you", Bishop said, still in a very calm voice.

Vincent looked him up and down, as if measuring him up, then nodded shortly. They went back into small alley ending dead end at a wall. No one was here. Bishop turned to Vincent.

"What is your problem?", he asked.

Vincent sneered. "You want to know what my problem is? I'm not going to let my sister fall into the clutches of one of this city's trained killers, that's my problem. You stay away from her! She's worth more than a dozen of your kind. Find someone else to have your fun with! There's enough whores here whose hearts are not going to break after you are done!"

"Killer?", Bishop said, stunned. He knew it was true, he had become a killer, but that was supposed to be secret, wasn't it?

"Yes, killer", Vincent hissed, scorn in his eyes. "My sister does not know. She thinks this is _love_." He spat out. "But I have my sources, and I have checked you out. And I say you keep your paws off her, or I'll make you regret it."

Bishop had his dagger out in a heartbeat, pressing the other man against the wall, the blade at his throat.

"Let me make this abundantly clear", he said, quietly. "I don't intend to hurt you. Or your sister. In fact, your sister is the only reason I have not left this wonderful city a long time ago. The only reason I'm still doing the dirty work you seem to know so much about. But I do _not_ take kindly to threats. So keep it down. Understood?"

Vincent's eyes had grown wide at Bishop's swift attack. He stared at Bishop for some moments, seemingly trying to assess if he meant what he had said. Bishop could detect no fear in his eyes, only calculation. He felt a certain respect for the other man. At least he had balls, standing up to him like that, if he knew what his job was.

So he retreated a step, lowering the dagger, waiting for Vincent to make the next move.

Vincent's gaze stayed on Bishop, the calculating look still in his eyes. "Sarah thinks you love her", he stated.

Bishop could feel blood rising to his face. "I do", he mumbled, staring at the ground. Nice killer he was, blushing like a maiden. He heard the other man chuckle and looked up, mortified.

"Unlikely as it seems, I think what you say is true", Vincent said. Then he held out his hand to Bishop. Hesitantly, Bishop took it, not knowing what to make of that change of mind.

Vincent held his hand, looking him squarely in the eyes. "Now there is something _I_ will make abundantly clear", he said. "And this is no threat, just a fact. Sarah is the only family I have left, and I love her very much. If you hurt her, I will make you regret it. And since I'm no match for you alone, I will bring friends. I don't believe in fighting fair if it gets me killed. Are we clear?"

Bishop stared at Vincent for a moment, then he had to grin. "Fair enough", he said. The guy _did_ have balls.

"Good", Vincent said, letting go of his hand. "Let's go for a beer."

From that moment on, Vincent had become the only friend in Bishop's life, even if he was several years older. He knew everything about him, and he still seemed to accept him. It had felt so good to have someone he could talk to, talk about everything he had had to keep inside for so long. Vincent never seemed to judge him, whatever horrors he was forced to commit.

"We all have to do things we're not proud of, if we want to survive", was all he said.

Bishop became a frequent guest in Vincent's house. When he was with Sarah, he thought he was in heaven. When he was out there, pressed to do the dirty work for the people he hated, he thought he was in hell. And he could feel the barbarity of what he was doing eating away at him. He could feel himself growing numb against the suffering he caused. He could not afford to care, or he would go insane.

After a while, the hard shell he had been forced to develop became part of him. He really did not care anymore. What was the point? He was going to survive. If others could not, they were weak. Their pathetic blubbering in the face of death disgusted him. They had no dignity, no strength. They did not deserve to live.

He could feel the darkness growing in him, but mostly, he did not mind. It helped him to survive. It made him strong. That was good. So he embraced it. Everything that kept him alive was a good thing. Alive to come back to Sarah. She still was the light in his life, the only light left.

Only when he held her close, he sometimes thought that he had to quit, to stop what he was doing, as long as something of the man she loved was left. But he could see no way out. He could leave. He could even take her with him. But he knew he would be hunted for the rest of his life. It was not the life he would wish for Sarah. It was not the life she was made for. She was soft, and sweet, and innocent. Living a life on the run would destroy her.

Then the day came when he was initiated into the higher ranks of his "organisation". He had become so good at what he did that they decided to _reward_ him for that. That was when he learned what the initiation rites were about. He had to pick a village and burn it down. With all the residents.

That nearly shocked him out of the emotional apathy that he had cultivated. Pick a village, kill everyone in it? That was madness, even for Luskan standards. But then he just settled into the comfortable numbness again. It was just a question of picking the right village. A village that deserved what it got. A village of weaklings, of cowards.

His village.

The village with the people who had stood idly by as he was abducted for service in the Luskan army as a boy. Watched as his mother was killed, trying to defend him. The people who, with their cowardice, had forced him to become the man he was today. Did they not deserve to experience first hand what being pressed into Luskan service meant? What it could do to a person?

They would find out.

And they did. He remembered the blaze, the heat so immense he had to retreat, while the village went up in flames, accelerated by the fuel he had spread, turning the night into a red, flickering inferno. He remembered the screams, people trying to run, flames licking at them, and he only felt satisfaction.

_See what you did to me?_

He stood and watched, his face grim, when a woman tried to escape through the wall of flames that surrounded the buildings. There was something familiar about her... He saw her run into the fire, her clothes catching immediately. She screamed in pain and horror. Soon everything burned, even the gray hair she had in a bun.

An icy hand grabbed his heart and started to squeeze. Oh yes, he knew that face, now twisted in agony. The last time he had seen it was when she was being held back by a couple of villagers, screaming until her voice gave out, trying to throw herself at the attackers, begging to give back her son. Her hair had not been gray then, but it was her, no doubt.

But he also remembered one of his captors turning on his horse, throwing a dagger at her, remembered the soft, swishing noise the dagger made as it embedded itself into her throat. Remembered the little gurgling sound as she went down. He had dreamt of those noises for months, crying in his sleep.

How could she be alive?

His heart stopped as she made it through the flames, collapsing to the ground, her skin scorched and blackened. He ran to her, ignoring the searing heat, tried to smother the flames still licking at what was left of her clothes, and dragged her farther away from the fire, burning his hands badly in the process without even noticing. She did not move.

"Mom!", he yelled, turning her onto her back and staring into her face, that miraculously had not been burned as much. Her eyes opened sluggishly, and he saw recognition in them. The corners of her mouth lifted in some travesty of a smile, and she seemed to try to say something. Then her eyes broke, and a last breath rattled out of her lungs. Then nothing.

He wailed in anguish, clutching her burned body to his chest.

_What have I done?_

Holding his dead mother in his arms, tears running down his face, the horror of it all hit him like a kick to the guts. He lifted his tear stained face, looking into the inferno ahead, where nothing moved anymore.

_What have I become?_

He was a monster.

He had killed his own mother.

Letting go of her body, he staggered to his feet, turning back to where the patrol was waiting for him. Walking, he drew his daggers. They were five. He would be killed. But he would take some of them with him.

He could not live with himself anymore. But he would also end the life of at least some of those who had turned him into the beast he was. He would give them a taste of what they had created.

Sarah would wait in vain for him to return. Thinking of her pierced his heart, but it was probably better this way. Vincent had been right. She was much too good for the likes of him. And if she had known who he really was, she probably would have fled with revulsion.

He walked up to the patrol that had accompanied – observed – him. With a fluid motion of both hands, he slit the throat of two of them with his daggers, before anyone noticed something was amiss. They went down with wet, gurgling noises. The others jumped back, drawing their weapons.

One against three. And he had only daggers. He stood no chance. But it did not matter. What mattered was that he put an end to all of this.

One of them jumped forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Bishop ducked and moved past his attacker, taking a swipe at his body with the dagger. Hitting something, he heard a groan and whirled round, just in time to parry another sword coming at him with the other dagger.

That left the third adversary unaccounted for. Bishop felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as the third weapon bit into him. With a yell he jumped out of the flanking position they had him in, kicking viciously at the knee of one of them, and as the man sagged, Bishop brought his dagger up, thrusting it under his chin, up into his mouth. This one went down gurgling, clutching at his throat, too.

The other one had used the opportunity to bring down his sword onto Bishop's back, leaving a deep wound. Bishop could feel the blood flowing down. He yelled again and turned, facing his attacker.

The first one, holding one hand to a deep slash in his belly, was back as well, circling Bishop slowly, trying to get him between him and the other one. Bishop tried to move out between them, but they attacked simultaneously. He blocked one sword with one dagger, stabbing the already wounded attacker into the chest with the other. The fourth one down.

That left one that was still uninjured. And he had used the opportunity to deal another heavy blow to Bishop's back.

Bishop started to feel dizzy from the loss of blood. He was bleeding freely from multiple wounds now. He did not have long. But there was only one of them left. He turned, facing the last man, wide grin on his face and a mad glint in his eye.

The blade of the man wavered for a moment when he saw the expression on Bishop's face, and that was all he needed. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he jumped forward, impaling himself on the other man's sword, but getting near enough in the process to bring his dagger down and slit his throat as well.

He saw the look of utter disbelief on his adversary's face as they sunk to the ground and felt the urge to laugh wildly. He had taken them with him. All of them. But there was no breath left in his pierced lungs.

Lying on the ground, the world grew dim around him.

_Goodbye, Sarah_, he thought. _You were the only good thing in my life. Be happy._


	27. Chapter 27 Hope

Some bitter liquid was poured into Bishop's mouth, running down his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He coughed and swallowed involuntarily.

"That's it, lad, keep it up", a cheerful voice reached his ear.

More of the bitter liquid. This time, he swallowed before it went down the wrong pipe.

"Good, good. You'll see, you'll be right as rain again in no time."

He felt the pain in his body abating somewhat and tentatively opened his eyes. The face of a half-elf was looming above, sandy, lank hair hanging over his slightly pointed ears, slanted hazel eyes twinkling down on him.

_What...?_

Then the memories rushed back. He choked as all the pain hit him again, reached up and pushed the half-elf away. What had the bugger done? Had brought him back from the brink of welcome death, to this hell of a life?

"Now, now," the man said soothingly. "No need to be rude. Name's Duncan Farlong. I was visiting my brother in West Harbor, and on my way back to Neverwinter I smelled the smoke and came to see what was going on." He shook his head in sorrow. "It's bad, really bad. Nothing left of Redfallow's Watch, just some shells of the houses. Everyone dead, it seems. Except for you. You're lucky I came along."

The words sounded innocent enough, but Bishop felt the piercing stare of the man on him, gauging every little reaction as he rambled on.

_He knows._

He had to know. Bishop wore the Luskan uniform. Nevertheless, he kept up the charade. Bishop tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his gut made him fall back, wheezing.

"Now, take it easy, lad, you're hurt more than a couple of potions can heal. Will take some time to get you on your feet again. Old Duncan here will look out for you in the meantime, no worries. Just lie back and get some sleep. What's your name, by the way?"

Bishop lay back, closing his eyes. Would that man prattle on endlessly? Probably easier to tell him what he wanted to know, maybe then he would shut up.

"Bishop", he croaked.

"Nice to meet you, Bishop." Something pressed against his mouth. "Now, you drink some water, you need that, and then you go to sleep. Tomorrow everything will look a bit brighter, eh?"

Bishop swallowed the water pouring into his mouth, hating the man already.

When he woke up in the morning, he felt a lot better. At least physically. The wounds on his chest and back were dressed, and the pain was nearly gone. He managed to sit up, feeling a bit woozy, but otherwise he was fine.

Except he wasn't fine at all. Thinking of the day before, black desperation choked him. Why, oh why had that retard have to come along and pull him back from the brink of death? Why did he have to live, to breathe, to _feel_? He did not want to feel anymore. He did not want to think anymore. Maybe he should just take his own dagger and finish what the escort could not.

He reached for his daggers, but his fingers found only empty air.

"Now, easy there, you don't want to do that", Duncan's disapproving voice came from behind him.

Bishop slowly turned around. "What do _you_ know?", he hissed. "You think I'm thankful for what you did? Well, I'm not! So give me back my daggers already and let me finish."

Duncan shook his head. "No, I won't. Would be a waste of the two good potions I gave you yesterday. Besides, you're much too young to even think of something like that. You're still a kid, after all."

Bishop snarled. "I'm not a kid! And I do what I please, so give me back my daggers and shove off!"

Duncan started packing his things as if he had not heard what Bishop had just said. "You can come with me, to the Sunken Flagon. Best house in the docks. Belongs to me. And you can see where you will be going after you get back on your feet. Take some time, rest, think, and everything will be right again, you'll see."

"You're crazy!", Bishop said with conviction. "Did you even hear what I said?"

Duncan grinned. "That's what they all say", he replied cheerily. "Now, can you walk?"

And Bishop had yielded to the greater power, for now, and had tried to get on his feet, slowly stumbling along with Duncan, cursing the man with every painful step.

The second day, he felt a bit more stable. He had relapsed into a sulky silence, not reacting to anything Duncan said. The half-elf did not seem to notice, prattling along endlessly about nothing at all. It grated on Bishop's nerves so much, he wished the idiot would swallow his tongue and suffocate on it.

He tried to shut out the irritating chatter, tried to think about what he would do next.

_Sarah._

He longed to see her. He knew her embrace was the only thing that would make the pain go away. But he could not see her, never again. He was a hunted man now, and he would only endanger her. He would not risk that.

But he would at least let them know why he left. He would slip back into Luskan. Had to hurry, before the news of this deed at Redfallow's Watch reached the city. He would talk to Vincent, leave a message to Sarah. She deserved that much. The thought of her, worrying about him, waiting for him to return, for weeks and weeks, he could not bear that.

To be in time, he would have to make haste. So he would take leave of his irritating life-saver today. Like now. Duncan marched before him, his mouth running on and on. Bishop fell behind, until the half-elf was a couple of yards away, still prattling. Then Bishop slipped between the trees and swiftly turned into the direction of Luskan. A good thing they had trained him so thoroughly. He hardly ever lost his way in the wilderness.

Keep the daggers, he thought. Have fun with them. I have more important things to do.

He marched for two days and nights, without sleeping, until he reached the city gates, completely exhausted. The guards let him pass without giving him trouble. He still wore the uniform of an elite soldier, even if it was dirty, bloody, torn and burnt. He staggered through the streets until he reached Vincent's house.

He knocked. The door opened, and he saw Vincent's surprised face. Then he collapsed forward and would have crumbled on the floor if the other man had not caught him.

"By the gods, what happened?", he heard Vincent's voice dimly reach his ears, before he passed out.

Bishop came to, lying on the sofa in Vincent's living room. Water splashed on his face. He sputtered and opened his eyes. Vincent was kneeling in front of him, worried expression on his face.

"You alright?", he asked.

The question reminded Bishop in how many ways he was _not_ alright, and he could not help tears welling up in his eyes, hating himself for being so pathetically weak in front of Vincent.

He sat up, angrily, rubbing at his eyes, trying to disguise the gesture as tiredness. He felt Vincent sit down beside him, his arm going round Bishop's shoulder, holding him.

"Sometimes you need to cry, even if you're a bad ass Luskan killer", he heard him say. The sympathy in Vincent's voice had done it, and the dam broke at last, the tears flowing as he blurted out everything that had happened, everything he had done. He cried all the tears he had held back for so many years, cried like the boy he still had been, despite everything.

When he was finished, the sobs slowly subsiding, Vincent's hand still on his shoulder, he turned to face him, afraid what he would see on his friend's face. Horror, revulsion, disgust? But he found only sympathy.

"What will you do now?", Vincent asked.

Bishop stared down on his hands. Were they still bloody? There had been so much blood...

"I'm going to leave. If I stay, I'll only endanger you. And Sarah. Will you..." he swallowed. "Will you tell her that I love her? But I can't see her again. They'll come after me, and I have to be far away when they find me. But I'll never forget her." He choked back another sob.

A cry from the doorway made him look up, and he saw Sarah, running through the room, blond hair trailing behind her like a veil, dropping to her knees in front of him. His blood froze. How much had she heard?

"No!", she cried, her arms going round his waist, holding tight. "I'll go with you!"

"No!", both men said simultaneously.

"Yes, I will", she said, stubbornly. "I love you. I want to be with you. And I won't let you leave without me."

Just her sight seemed to ease most of the pain he felt, and he only wanted to pull her near, hold her close, breathe in her scent and let it take away all the hurt. But he knew he could not do that, and that soon, she would be gone from his life entirely. He reached out, stroking her golden hair, and she nuzzled her cheek into his hand, giving him a trembling smile.

"Sarah", he said softly. "You don't understand. You can't come with me. You won't be safe."

"Yes, I do!", she said. "I heard everything. And I don't care! I don't care what you did, and I don't care who will come after you. I don't care where you go, as long as I will be with you."

"You... you heard everything?", he said, taken back. "And you still want to come with me? You can't be serious! I'm a monster! You can't love me, after you heard that!"

She reached up, stroking his cheek, a bright light in her eyes. "You're no monster", she said, softly. "I heard what you did, but I also heard you cry. Monsters don't cry. It's this city. Living here does that to a person. I know that. They just push you farther and farther, until you can't tell wrong from right anymore. And they pushed _you_ even farther than that. But we will leave it all behind. We'll go somewhere, far away, and forget about this dump of a city. And we will be so happy together. You'll see."

He pulled her up, into his arms, holding her close, and he could feel his heart starting to heal. "You really mean that?", he whispered, not daring to believe.

"I really mean that", she said, kissing him tenderly.

He opened his eyes, looking over her shoulder into Vincent's face. The older man shrugged. "I'm not happy about it", he said. "But I know you love her, and you'll take good care of her. And she is not wrong. I will he glad if she can leave this city, live somewhere else where people actually can be happy. And maybe I'm going to come after you, when you've found somewhere to settle down."

Sarah turned, and hugged Vincent fiercely. "You're the best brother in the world", she said. "We will find a beautiful place, and then you will come and stay with us. It will be wonderful, you'll both see."

"I hope you are right", Vincent said, hugging her back. Then he addressed Bishop again. "You are going to require money to travel fast. It will take me some time to get some together. In the meantime, you need a good place to hide. You can't stay here. Sarah and you will leave tomorrow morning."

Bishop nodded. "Thanks. I will stay in the ruins. They won't find me there, if they even look. They probably will not expect me to come back here. They are going to think I fled into the woods."

Vincent nodded, too, but said: "Probably, but we better take no risk. Those ruins are a creepy place, but you're right, no one will see you there. But be careful. Go now, I will bring Sarah tomorrow, and you can be on your way."

Bishop held out his hand to Vincent, who took it. Then he got up, facing Sarah, who smiled at him, little stars dancing in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her until he heard Vincent clear his throat. Then he lifted his head and smiled down on her. "I love you", he whispered. "I will always love you."

She stroked his cheek. "I love you too", she smiled. "Go now, before someone finds you here. Tomorrow we will leave, and we will have our whole life together. I can't wait."

He hugged her one last time, then let go, turning to the door. He looked back over his shoulder, smiling at her once more, nodded to Vincent, and let himself out of the front door. Pulling up his hood, he hurried through the streets until he came up to the ruins. He hesitated for a moment, then slipped into the eerie shadows between the broken buildings. His heart beating fast, he made his way along crumbling walls, trying to find a good place to hide.

It was then he realised he did not even have weapons with him. He stopped, leaning against the wall next to him, looking around. Nothing moved. Hopefully it would stay that way, otherwise he was in trouble. Even more trouble, that was. He pushed away from the wall with his hands. He'd better get going, to find somewhere he could stay the night.

Suddenly, he felt the stone give under his hand, and a rumbling came from the wall behind him. He jumped, startled, and saw a piece of the wall retract and vanish to the side. What the...? He looked at the wall he had leaned on and found a stone that was pressed deeper into the wall. He had stumbled over a secret door through sheer luck.

He peered through the opening and saw a long, winding staircase descending into the darkness. No sound came from below. With a grating noise, the wall started to glide back into place, and he jumped back. When the gap had closed, he carefully examined the wall. He would never have suspected a door there. He pressed the stone again, and the wall swung back. Interesting. He had no light with him, but tomorrow, he would get a lantern from Vincent and try to find the corresponding mechanism from the inside. Who knew what use one could make of that discovery?

He memorised the location of the wall and the stone as best as he could. Then he found a small building, nearly intact, and slipped inside. He lay down in the dirt, too exhausted to stay awake any longer. If some of the inhabitants of the ruins found him, he would have to deal with it. But he just had to sleep.

And tomorrow, Sarah and he would leave here, to start a new life somewhere far away. He smiled. She really was an angel. If she could forgive him for what he had become, if she still could love him, after all he had done, then maybe some day he would be able to forgive himself.

There still was hope.


	28. Chapter 28 Leverage

"Bishop!"

The urgent call penetrated his sleep. Disoriented, he opened his eyes, blinking into the darkness, wondering where he was. Then it came back to him. The fire. The fight. Duncan. Sarah and Vincent. The ruins.

"Bishop! Where the hells are you?", he heard Vincent yell, not far away.

_Has he lost his mind, making such a racket? I'm supposed to _hide_ here!_

"Bishop!", Vincent shouted again.

Bishop got up, an uneasy feeling creeping up in him. Something must be very wrong.

"I'm here!", he called. No need to keep his voice down after Vincent screamed bloody murder.

He saw Vincent running round the bend, and an icy hand gripped his heart. Vincent looked like hell, ghostly pale, his eyes wide and panicked, sweat glistening on his forehead.

He ran up to Bishop, gripping his shoulders with both hands, shaking him slightly. "Thank the gods! We must hurry. They have her! They will hurt her! We must do something! We must help her. You must go to them, or they will…" His voice broke.

"What happened?", Bishop interrupted, the icy grip tightening around his heart.

"Sarah! I was out, raising the money, and when I came back, the door was kicked in, and I ran inside, and Sarah was gone, and I found… that." He fumbled in his pocket, thrusting a piece of paper into Bishop's face.

Bishop took it and read. It was short, but clear.

_Tell your friend to turn himself in, or the girl will pay for it._

"Somebody must have seen you at our house."

Bishop just stared at the note.

"What will you do?" Vincent searched his face, imploringly.

The note slipped from Bishop's numb hands. "I'll go", he said dully. "I can't let her be hurt."

"I'm sorry", Vincent whispered.

Bishop shook his head, still feeling numb. "Don't be", he said. "I deserve to pay. She does not. I'll go immediately."

Vincent nodded, sorrow in his face. "I'll go with you. I'll bring her home. I will keep her safe. Thank you for this."

Bishop tried to smile, while panic was eating at his insides. He turned and hurried through the ruined buildings in the direction of the city gaol. He had seen enough of it to want Sarah out of there as soon as possible.

If he turned himself in, he was dead. If he did not, so was Sarah.

There really was no choice in that.

As he neared the gaol, he could see the hulking figure of Marvin, one of his trainers, at the entrance. The man smiled cruelly and took a step towards Bishop.

"I knew you would come", he said smugly. "It's always just the question of finding the right leverage."

"Where is she?", Bishop asked, trying not to let his panic show.

"Inside", Marvin answered. "Go on." He opened the door and stepped aside to let Bishop and Vincent pass.

Bishop hurried through the door, standing in a long corridor with doors on both sides. He stopped and turned. Marvin indicated ahead, and Bishop walked along the gloomy corridor, dread making his stomach turn. He knew Marvin. Even for Luskan standards, he was bad.

"Third door to the right", the man called out from behind. "You can go in and see her, if you want."

Bishop pushed the door open with shaking hands, and entered the room. He walked some steps, then stopped while his brain tried to process the sight.

It was less a room than a torture chamber. All sorts of nasty looking instruments were on the tables and hung on the walls. In the middle of the room was a large table, and it was that his eyes were drawn to, even if his brain refused to acknowledge what it saw.

It was Sarah, no question about it. She was bound to the table, spread-eagled, her dress in tatters. He could see gashes, bruises and burn marks everywhere. And there was blood. Most of it smeared the insides of her thighs. Her face was a mask of pain, her eyes staring at the ceiling, dull, sightless, dead.

Bishop slowly turned to face the door, feeling frozen, detached, surreal. Surely this was some kind of nightmare, and he was going to wake any minute now. It could not be real. It must not be real. He refused to believe any of this was happening.

He saw Marvin leaning at the door, smirking. "You really thought we'd let the little whore go, or her brother? After they helped you? You're really losing it, boy. You came here, knowing what was waiting for you, because of her? I have to admit, I was not sure you were stupid enough."

Bishop heard movement in the corridor, the sound of footsteps and of weapons being drawn. He heard Vincent yell a warning. He still stood frozen to the spot, not able to move, because if he moved, it would all become real.

"You let her make you weak, boy", Marvin said. "Your own fault. But at least we had a lot of fun with her, even after she stopped breathing."

Something snapped in Bishop. He felt a scream building up, deep down in his guts, like a tidal wave. It rose, up, up, further up, gaining momentum, until it reached his throat, and he opened his mouth, letting it out, a fierce, desperate howl. His hands grabbed something long and sharp from the table next to him, and he threw himself at Marvin, wanting to shut him up, wanting to beat him down, wanting to see that ugly face twist in pain, wanting to make him _bleed_.

He saw Marvin's eyes widen in surprise at the sudden, furious attack, and he brought his sword up, just as the pokers Bishop had grabbed from the table connected with his face. Bishop heard a sharp cry from outside, heard the sickening crack as the poker broke Marvin's nose, felt the pain as Marvin's sword bit into his flesh… and then a red mist descended in front of his eyes, and he just kept hitting, hitting until nothing moved anymore.

When his brain started working again, he stood in the corridor, bleeding from several wounds, the pokers still in his hands, and around him lay bodies, bloody, beaten, faces unrecognisable under the blood and the swellings and the broken bones. He was panting heavily, and in front of him, Vincent sat against the wall, staring up at him. It was the first time Bishop saw fear in Vincent's eyes. He was bleeding, too. The worst wound seemed to be a deep gash, running from his mouth up to his ear where a sword caught him.

"Bishop?", he said, tentatively.

Bishop just stared down at him, unable to speak. Vincent slowly got up, looked down at the bloody pulp that had been several prison guards, and then back at Bishop, as if he saw him for the first time. Bishop knew that in that moment, Vincent realised that he really was a beast. But it did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore. They had taken the light from his life.

Vincent strode past Bishop, moving to the door.

"No", Bishop croaked, his throat feeling raw. He probably had been screaming a lot. "Don't look!"

But it was too late. Vincent was standing in the door, frozen for a moment, then he dropped to his knees, a sob escaping him. Bishop just stood, watching him, not daring to touch him with his bloody hands.

After a moment, Vincent lifted his head, and got up, a look of cold determination on his face. His eyes met Bishop's, then fell down at the dead bodies on the floor.

"I'm glad you did that", he said, coldly. "Let's get out of here."

"Sarah…", Bishop said.

"We can't take her with us. It's just a shell, anyway. Sarah is gone. But we live. And I will stay alive. And I will make them _pay_." With these words, he shoved Bishop down the corridor.

Feeling numb and empty after his outburst, dead inside, Bishop just yielded. Without meeting any more guards, they made it to the end of the corridor. Obviously, Marvin had prepared the stage for his little scene, sending away those he did not want involved.

"We'll have to get you out of the city", Vincent said, still in that cold, emotionless voice. "I will stay here. And get back at them for what they did to Sarah. In my own way."

Hearing Vincent speak her name made a sharp pain pierce the numbness around Bishop's heart. Tears stung his eyes and he stopped, choking back a sob.

Vincent turned around, grabbed his shoulders and shook him, a fierce light burning in his eyes. "Don't you dare give up now! You hear me? Pull yourself together! You are going to make it out of this city, and you are going to live! Sarah..." his voice broke a bit. "She would want it that way. She loved you more than anything. You owe it to her to go on!"

Bishop just let himself be shaken like a rag doll. There was no fight left in him.

"What would I want to go on living for?", he said, dully.

"Revenge", Vincent said, the fierce light still burning in his eyes. "As long as you are alive, you can kill more of these bastards. I saw what you did back there. I knew you were a killer, but I never knew what that meant. Now I know. And I want you to use those skills to pay them back, understand?"

Revenge? The word had a sweet sound to it. Bishop felt some of the apathy that overwhelmed him fade.

With that came the pain. But this time he welcomed it. He let it in, let it burn him, and the fire fueled the rising hate. Vincent was right. He was going to live. For now. And he was going to get as many of them as possible before they got him.

He straightened his shoulders. "You're right.", he said, hoarsely. "I owe it to her. I will show them how well they taught me my trade. But you can't stay. They will punish you for what happened here."

Vincent smiled coldly. "Don't worry about me. I will have a dozen men swearing I was with them while it happened. No one who saw us is still alive. And they will recognise your handiwork." He indicated down the corridor. "I don't think they will be able to do anything to me. They will be busy looking for you. But first, we'll have to get you out. Let's get going."

He turned and passed the last yards of the corridor, opening the door, peering outside. Then he stepped out, indicating to Bishop to follow him.

"You can't go through the gate", he said. "The guards surely are looking out for you."

"I found some sort of secret passage in the ruins", Bishop said. "I'll try that. Maybe I'll find a way out. If not, I will be back and we can think of something."

Vincent had just nodded, and that was that. He knocked on a door on the way, entered the building and came out with a bundle he thrust into Bishops arms. It contained some provisions, blankets, torches. He also left Bishop his sword.

When they reached the ruins, he grabbed Bishop's hand and squeezed it hard. "Take care. Don't let them get you." His voice got soft, shaking slightly. "We both lost the most important person in our lives today. I know how you feel. But we will not let them win, you hear? I want to see them bleed for what they did." He let go of Bishop's hand and stepped back. "You saved my life back there. I won't forget that. Go now. And successful hunting."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the night.

Bishop entered the ruins and found the secret door again. For the first time, he explored the tunnels underneath Luskan. He survived. He made his way out.

Since he did not know where to go, he went to Neverwinter. To Duncan. He hated the man, but it was as good a place as any to stay. Better, because Luskan would not get hold of him there. Duncan asked no questions, but let him stay. For some days, Bishop kept inside, lying on the bed in his room, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could just die and follow Sarah.

But he would not. He still had a purpose. He would avenge her death on as many Luskans as he could. And he would never, ever let himself get soft again. No mercy, no compassion, no feelings at all. As Marvin had said, it gave your enemies leverage. And Sarah had paid the price.

Never again. He swore that to himself. Because if you allowed yourself a weakness, someone would find a way to exploit it.

He got back to his feet. He perfected the skills they had taught him, getting so good at surviving in the wilderness that they would never be able to catch him. Perfecting his stealth, so he was able to sneak up on them in the woods and kill them before they knew what hit them. And he used the secret entrance a lot, to strike at them from the inside, slipping out again before they even knew he was there.

And he never, ever let himself feel again. If someone hurt, it was others.

And now, here he was, imprisoned, about to be tried and executed sure as hell, because he had failed to heed his own sacred rule.

Made you laugh, really.


	29. Chapter 29 News

Chantal sat at the table in the kitchen of her little house in the Mere, her lunch in the form of freshly baked bread and cheese in front of her, plate pushed back untouched. She just did not feel hungry. She had seldom felt hungry the last days.

She just sat, looking down at the little wooden carved wolf she held in her hand. She had spent a lot of time doing that since she had found it on the ground in the woods. Somehow, the days spent in Bishop's company seemed like a dream to her in hindsight, unreal. So she often sat, holding the wolf, stroking the smooth wood, because it was the only proof that it all had actually happened.

The way back home after Bishop had left had been bad. She had felt so torn, ripped in half somehow.

_How could you let yourself fall in love with him?_

She could not understand. But something drew her to him like the proverbial moth to the flame.

_And we all know what happens to the moth, don't we?_

She should be happy she got off so easily this time. With all her innards still safely tucked inside. But she only felt lost, lonely, miserable. She had never cried so much in her life. When she was alone, that was.

On the way back to the Mere, she had to keep up the façade. It had been hard, really hard. Casavir was so glad Bishop was gone, he was almost cheerful. Chantal had had to pull herself together not to constantly snap at him. Had to tell herself that it was not his fault, but hers. That he was right, that it was a good thing Bishop was gone, and it was herself who was wrong about this.

Neeshka had been unusually quiet the whole time, just regarding Chantal with so much pity in her face she had to avoid the tiefling's eyes entirely, or else she would have burst into tears.

So she had tried to shove all the feelings, all the misery and longing, deep, deep down. But they would not stay down, no matter how hard she tried. It was even worse than last time, because this time, there was no fury, no betrayal to help her over it. This time, she only remembered his kisses, his scent, the way he held her close, the warm glow in his usually cold eyes.

And gods, how she missed him.

_Get over it. He's gone. No use in pining._

Somehow, the thought did not help at all.

She sighed, got up and started to carry her untouched plate back to her pantry, when she heard a plopping noise behind her and whirled around.

Neeshka was standing in her kitchen, eyes round, big grin on her face, some piece of parchment in her hands.

"Oh wow, this is _so_ cool", the tiefling squealed, awed.

"Neeshka! What the hells are you doing? And how did you get here?", Chantal said, stunned and momentarily shocked out of her misery.

"Teleport scroll! I never used one before, but it is really cool! I'm still tingling all over!"

"Teleport scroll? Isn't that a bit expensive, just for a visit?"

That seemed to make the tiefling remember that there was some reason for being there. She looked at Chantal for a moment, indecision in her face. Then she sat down at the table, saying ominously: "I was in a hurry. You might want to sit down, too."

Chantal rolled her eyes. Neeshka sure had a love for theatrics. She sat down and looked at the tiefling, eyebrows drawn up. Neeshka returned her gaze, opened her mouth, and closed it again. Chantal started getting impatient. She was not in a good mood anyway, and this beating around the bush really tried her patience.

"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?", she asked, her tone a bit harsher than she intended.

But Neeshka did not seem to notice. She still regarded Chantal hesitatingly. Then she said: "First, I have to tell you that Casavir does not know I am here. He would go spare if he knew."

Chantal's stomach clenched. This did not sound good.

"Neeshka, what is it?", she said, anxiously.

"It's Bishop", Neeshka said, bluntly. "He's been caught, and he's going to hang. And I thought someone should tell you."

Chantal felt the blood drain from her face. She sat, frozen for a moment, her blood running cold. "Hang…?", she said, her lips not wanting to move.

"Yes. Kana brought him to Neverwinter three days ago. His trial is tomorrow. But there is no question how this will turn out. They have hanged people for treason who have done much less to deserve it than him."

"Kana…? But… why? How?" Chantal's brain seemed frozen too, not working properly.

Neeshka shrugged. "As far as I know, and I know a lot, because I've been asking around, he's been caught in Crossroad Keep. He attacked a Greycloak, that blew his cover."

"At Crossroad Keep?", Chantal asked incredulously. "Attacking a Greycloak?" It made no sense at all.

"Yes. Obviously, he'd been totally smashed."

Chantal had the feeling that she was living in some kind of nightmare. This was all too absurd to be real.

"Drunk? He got _drunk_ in Crossroad Keep and attacked a Greycloak?", she said, incredulity still thick in her voice. This sure must be a bad dream. Bishop would never be that stupid.

Neeshka regarded her fingernails. "That's what I heard."

"But… why?", Chantal asked, helplessly. "Why would he go to Crossroad Keep? That's insane! He knew he could never show his face again there! And even if he did, why should he get drunk, why did he attack someone? It's madness!"

"Yep", Neeshka said, still regarding her fingernails intently.

"Neeshka", Chantal said, threateningly. "If there is something you'd like to tell me, just do so."

Neeshka looked up from her nails, the corners of her mouth turning up. "Well, I don't know of course, but to me it seems there's _something_ he can't handle. Something that's driving him to act stupid. Even more stupid than usual, I mean. Got any idea what that may be?"

Chantal stared at Neeshka, uncomprehending. What could the tiefling mean with that?

Neeshka just shook her head, in disbelief. "You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you? Well, I'm not going to explain. I just thought I better tell you what's going on, even if Casavir decided not to."

Chantal felt anger rise. "Casavir wanted to leave me in the dark about this?"

Neeshka shrugged. "He reckons that what you don't know don't hurt you. And I guess he's afraid you would try to interfere somehow. He's really keen on seeing the ranger hang."

"He's done nothing to deserve Casavir's wrath, this time", Chantal said, quietly. "In fact, he saved all our lives. We should be thankful to him."

"Oh please", Neeshka said, rolling her eyes. "You know very well how Casavir feels about you. And it's driving him nuts that you chose Bishop over him. Especially since Bishop did not really seem to appreciate it, don't you think?"

Chantal blushed. "Casavir does not love me anymore!"

"Yes, he does", Neeshka said, matter-of-factly. "He may not want to bed you anymore, but he still loves you. And that's why he hates the ranger so much. He just can't stand the thought of you with him. He would be jealous of any other man, I think, but with Bishop, it's worse, because of him being all traitorous and evil, and trying to kill you, you know."

Chantal blushed even deeper at Neeshka's forthright speech, not knowing what to say.

"Oh, don't worry", the tiefling said, cheerfully. "I'm ok with it, I'm not the jealous type. Well, I am actually, but not in that case. You're like his sister or something. And I know how much he loves me. So that's fine. But I thought, this time he's wrong about things. You should know. Sooner or later you'd hear, and I thought I'd better face Casavir's anger because I told you than your wrath if you found out we knew but kept silent."

That line brought Chantal's thoughts back to more pressing matters.

_Bishop, dead..._

She could not stand the thought.

The beautiful wolf eyes, broken, lifeless... all that nervous energy, gone... even his sneer, the scowl on his face, extinguished forever...

_No! Please gods, not that... I can't bear it._

"I have to do something", she said, helplessly.

Neeshka looked at her, pity in her face. "I know, but I can't think of anything. They keep him well guarded, and I think even chained. They want to make sure he does not escape. At least, that's what I could find out. And we can't just barge in and bust him out, now, can we? And I don't think we will find someone in Neverwinter we can bribe to let him go."

Chantal got up abruptly, her chair falling to the ground. "I have to get out. I can't _think_ in here!"

Neeshka got up, too, but Chantal held out her hand. "No, please... could you just wait here? I need some time alone. Please?"

Neeshka just nodded and let herself plop down on the chair again. Chantal turned and nearly fled out of the door, out of the hut, into the comforting sounds of the Mere.

Sitting in her favourite spot, under an old willow tree by the small brook that passed her hut, Chantal waited for the familiar sounds to soothe her mind. But this time, the chirping of the birds, the humming of the insects and the murmur of the brook were not enough to calm the turmoil in her soul.

Her stomach still was knotted into a small, hard ball of fear, and her heart was aching so much she thought it might just stop beating.

Knowing Bishop was gone from her life had been bad enough.

Knowing that soon he would be dead was simply unbearable.

How could he have been so stupid? Wandering into Crossroad Keep, of all places, where so many people were thirsty for his blood after he let Garius and his army of undead in? What ever could have moved him to do such a thing? And why, for the love of the gods, did he have to get drunk in there and pick a fight?

That was more than stupid. It was suicide. And that did not sound like Bishop. If there was anything Bishop was good at, it was staying alive.

So why?

_Seems there's something he can't handle._

That's what Neeshka had said. Something he could not handle? Bishop prided himself on being able to handle everything.

_Except one thing._

She could only think of one thing the ranger could not deal with.

_Bonds._

Emotions_. _He regarded them as weakness. And he would not allow himself to grow weak. Would not allow himself to get attached. Would not allow himself to...

_...love._

Her heart started to beat painfully fast. Could it be?

_Something he can't handle._

His mysterious return. His insistence on helping them into Luskan. His strange, constant mood swings. The warm light that sometimes shone in his eyes.

_Something he can't handle._

_He tried to gut you! Hardly a sign of undying love!_

Except that maybe, it was. At least, for Bishop. If he really felt something for her, would he not feel trapped?

Oh yes, he would. He would panic. So he had done something very Bishop.

_Tried to cut the bonds._

Literally. By cutting her up. It seemed so clear now. Even made sense in its own, twisted way. Why had she not seen that before?

_Because you let yourself be fooled by his angry mask._

_I _knew_ there was loneliness and hurt hiding behind that!_

But she had not understood how far that hurt would push him.

_So now you know. Or think you do. So what?_

Yes, so what. What did that insight gain her, besides a racing heart and the pain that thinking of missed chances brought? He was still going to die in a couple of days. Because of what he had done. What he had done because of... love?

No! If she was right, she had to find a way. She just _had_ to. There had to be a way!

_Do you really want him back, someone who would kill you, just to be free of you?_

It was a valid question. Her mind sure said no. Told her to keep as far away from Bishop as possible.

But her heart screamed yes. Sang at the thought of having him close again. Somehow, she felt that he had changed. That the last year had changed him.

_He risked his life for us. The old Bishop would never have done that._

He _had_ changed. The question was, how much?

_I'm going to find out! I don't care __about the risk._

But she had to find a way to save him first.

_I'm not going to let them take him away from me now__._

Her mind racing as fast as her heart, she sat under the willow, staring into the water hopping over stones and forming little swirls at her feet. She willed a solution to come to her. But nothing would show.

Neeshka was right. Barging in and freeing him was out of the question. As was bribery. She could not think of anyone who would be willing and able to let someone like Bishop go. But there must be a possibility!

Then, suddenly, the thought struck her. Slowly, tentatively, she turned it in her mind, trying to examine it from every angle, not daring to feel hopeful yet. But the more she thought about it, the more she thought it might just work. It would be risky. But it might work.

Besides, she could not come up with a better plan. So it would have to do.

Excited, she jumped to her feet and ran back in the direction of her hut.


	30. Chapter 30 Plans in Motion

"What?", Neeshka squeaked, indignantly, while she swallowed the last bite of Chantal's rejected lunch. "I can't do that! Casavir will kill me!"

"He'll never find out", Chantal said. "How would he know? Please. I need your help in this, I can't do it alone."

"I don't even know _how_ to do it!"

"You will find a way", Chantal said. "You're good at stuff like that. It's what you _do_."

Neeshka grinned at the compliment. "Ok, so I might be able to do it. But why do you think he'll listen to me? And do you really think it will work? He might still die."

"I know", Chantal said, a bit ashamed of herself. Neeshka did not know everything. Bishop would not die. "But it's the best chance he'll get. He will listen to you. I don't think he wants to hang. He will jump at every chance to get out."

Neeshka shook her head slowly. "I'm not so sure. But fine, I'll do it. Can't hurt, eh? If he is stubborn, we will have lost nothing." She got up. "I'll better get going then, no time to waste. Good thing I brought a second scroll."

Chantal got up as well. "Wait for me. I'm going to grab my stuff and come with you. If he does not listen to you, I'd like to be near. We might have to think of something else."

"You can't stay with us! Casavir is going to flip!"

"No, I won't stay with you. Jump back to the Flagon, I'll stay with Duncan. I guess he would be happy to see Bishop hang as well, so I won't tell him anything. Casavir does not have to know I'm even there."

Neeshka seemed relieved. "Yes, that's good. Then he won't yell at me. Not that he does, ever, you know? He just gets _sad and disappointed_." She made a face. "_So_ much worse, I tell you – I always wish he'd just throw a fit and get over it instead."

Chantal had to smile a bit, in spite of her sorrows. "Bad, huh?"

Neeshka rolled her eyes. "You have no idea. I always feel like the worst shrew in the world and just come crawling, only to see him smile at me again. And with this, I'd have to do a _lot_ of crawling, believe me!"

"We'll have to avoid making him disappointed with you, then. He'll never know your role in this, I promise. He can be disappointed with me all he likes, I can take it."

"Yes, please", Neeshka said, deeply felt. "So much better you than me!"

Chantal went to collect her things, and a couple of minutes later, they materialised in the bushes behind the Flagon. She turned to Neeshka.

"You go home. No need to let Duncan know you had anything to do with this. And please hurry – you have to deliver that message today."

"Work, work, work", Neeshka grumbled, but winked at Chantal. "No worries, I'll deliver your message. I'll be off then, have to hurry."

With that, she waved and marched down the street in the direction of the Merchant's Quarter. Chantal squared her shoulders and went to the entrance of the Flagon, pushing it open.

Nothing much had changed here. Since Sal was gone, Duncan did a lot of the work himself. And surely, there he was, behind the counter, polishing the wood lovingly. Instinctively, Chantal's eyes went to the dark corner Bishop always had lurked in. Seeing it empty made her heart twist in pain, made so clear what it would mean to have him gone forever.

_My life as empty as that corner._

She swallowed back the tears that threatened to rise and made her way to the counter and to Duncan. He looked up at last.

"Well, good day to you, and what can I… lass!"

He practically jumped over the counter to draw her into his arms. For a moment, Chantal hugged him back, even relishing the comfort of the smell of old beer and unwashed clothes.

When he released her to take a step back, she looked into his face, and saw the joy in there give way to guilt.

She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Hello, _Uncle_", she said.

He smiled at her nervously and started polishing the wood again. "What a pleasant surprise. And what brings you to our lovely town? You have not visited your old Uncle Duncan for a long time."

She gave him a grim smile. "Duncan, you might be many things, but you're not stupid. So you know very well why I am here. I'm here for the trial."

He looked up swiftly. "So you know, then?"

She just nodded.

He looked at her uncertainly. "I know you always had a soft spot for the scoundrel, but he deserves what he gets. After what he did to you, I think I'd have killed him myself, if I had been able to get my hands on him."

She shook her head, making her voice sound as sincere as her not inconsiderable skills at lying would allow her. "I don't have a soft spot for him. Not anymore. "

_That's true – I think I love him. You can't call that a soft spot, can you?_

"But I was the one he betrayed. And he tried to kill me. You can say I have a certain personal interest in this matter. So I am here to see what will come out of this."

She could feel his eyes probing her, trying to gauge if she meant what she said. She carefully kept a neutral face. Duncan was not stupid, and he had a keen eye for people's reactions. Lying to him was a challenge, to say the least.

"You will attend the trial?", he asked.

She shook her head. "No, I won't. But I might watch the sentence being executed."

_You bet I'm going to be there._

His eyes widened in surprise. "You will see him die? Even I don't think I can do that, and I have not spent as much time with him as you."

_Ah, such a delicate way to put it._

She shrugged. "You did not have his dagger sticking out of your gut while he smiled at you." She let her lips compress into a tight line.

He flinched a bit. "True, true", he murmured, thrown, and let the subject drop.

_Whew. __Guess he believes me._

She smiled at him. "Can I have my old room? And maybe something to eat?"

He looked up from polishing the wood, obviously relieved that she changed the subject. "Sure, lass. Just take your things to the room, Uncle Duncan here will fix you some dinner." He gave her a disapproving glance. "You look thinner! You're not eating properly. Have to take better care of you."

_Not eating properly? You could say that._

But now that she had a goal, and some hope, her stomach grumbled. Food would really be nice.

_Besides, I need my strength._

So she nodded, and walked along the corridor to the familiar room, the room she had lived in for so long. Until she had to move to Crossroad Keep. It all seemed so long ago, like another life.

She left her weapons and armour in her room and went back to the taproom just wearing breeches and a man's shirt. She would not need her weapons. Not yet.

She sat with Duncan for maybe an hour, eating, talking, laughing, taking great care not to let him see the nervousness behind the calm facade. She was not sure, but she thought she managed to deceive him. Gradually, the probing looks grew less frequent, and he seemed to relax.

_Good._

When she was finished with her meal, she got up and told him she had some shopping to do while in town and went outside.

Time to pay Nevalle a visit.

xxx

Neeshka walked through the door of the palace nonchalantly, looking busy. In her experience, trying to be inconspicuous made you stick out like a sore thumb. But walk in somewhere boldly, head up, everyone just assumed you had business there and no one really noticed you.

In that same confident manner, she marched through several doors, still trying to look busy, walking purposefully, but not looking at anyone directly. Looking people in the eye made them notice you, and Neeshka did not want to be noticed.

Eventually, she reached the less frequented areas of the palace. Here, she could not let herself be seen. Carefully, she sneaked down the corridors, deftly picking some locks where necessary. Once or twice, she had to slip through a door quietly and hide in the room behind it, as she heard footsteps approaching. The footsteps passed her by each time.

At last, she stepped through another door outside of the palace, to find herself in a small, flagged courtyard, surrounded on all sides by walls. No one was here.

_Perfect._

Now, which cell was it? She scanned the walls with the small, barred windows set very low. There, the third window through the left. That was probably the right one. She went over to the wall, sat down and peered into the darkness below. She could make out a figure, looking up at her, but could not tell if it was the ranger. Even her eyes took some time to grow accustomed to the gloom inside.

"Who's there?", she heard the familiar grating voice calling up at her, accompanied by a metallic clanging.

_So they _do_ have him in chains._

"It's me", she said, not too loud. She did not want to attract any attention. The last thing she wanted was being found here. It would come to Casavir's ears, and then... she shuddered. "Come over a bit, so you can hear me better."

"I would _love_ to", he said, caustically. "Unfortunately, the hospitality of this establishment includes chains, let into the wall. I'm afraid I'm going to have to stay where I am. I deeply apologise for the inconvenience."

_Not in a good mood, was he?_

She could not really blame him. Seemed like she had to speak up, then.

_Better make it quick and be gone._

"Come to gloat, have you?", his voice came from below again, before she could speak. "Well, have your fun and shove off."

She huffed. "Yes, sure, this is me, sneaking in here just to have a good laugh at you. As if I did not have something better to do! Besides, believe me, after my recent experiences I don't find prisons very funny anymore."

There was a pause below, and some more clanking of chains. Then he said: "Fine. If that is so, what do you want, demon?"

"I want to help you, of course. Well, maybe not _want_, because I don't like you, but I will."

"That so?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "And what are you going to do, smuggle me a cake with a rasp in it?"

She giggled. "No, something much better."

There was a pause again. Then he asked: "Why?"

"Why what?", Neeshka said, nonplussed.

"What do you think, why? Why are you going to help me, if that is what you're doing? At the moment it seems to me you're just trying to piss me off. Very successfully, believe me."

She giggled again. "Language, Sir. Shouldn't you try to be nice to the girl come to bust your ass out of here?"

"At the moment the only _nice_ thought I have is about strangling you with these chains here. Are you going to tell me or not?", he snapped.

Neeshka pouted. "You're no fun."

"Well, excuse me if all this impending death business puts a little damper on my humour. I'm a bit sensitive that way. Now, either tell me or split, will you?"

_Ugh, sarcasm again._

She sighed. "Fine, be like that. I'm here because you got my ass out of prison. I thought it behoved me to return the favour. You could at least be a little grateful."

"Like you were?" She could practically see the sneer on his face.

"Well, I was. Sort of."

"So am I. Sort of. At least, if you get around to telling me anything about it some time in the future."

"Gods, you're grumpy. Ok, here's what you do."

And Neeshka told him everything Chantal had instructed her to. He seemed to listen intently, not saying a word. Occasionally, she could hear the chains as he shifted position, but that were the only noises from below. After she had finished, there was a long silence. Then he said:

"Whose idea was this?"

"Mine", she lied. "Casavir would flip if he even knew I was talking to you." That part was perfectly true.

"And where's the _Captain_?"

His voice held a good amount of scorn. Neeshka grinned.

_Nice try, boy._

"She went back to the Mere after you left." Perfectly true. The best way of lying was always to keep to the truth, but simply not to answer the question, just make it look like you did. That way, you sounded absolutely sincere.

"Does she know?"

"Casavir decided that we should not tell her", was Neeshka's answer. And that still was the truth. She grinned to herself.

Bishop snorted. "Figures."

"So, will you do it?", she asked.

Silence again. Then he said: "I might still die. Not much of a rescue."

"Yep", she said. "You might still die. Or you might get free. And if you die, you will at least go down fighting. So much better than dangling from a rope, don't you think?"

She could practically hear him thinking.

"Got me there", he said, at last. "I'll do it."

"Great", she squeaked. "I'll be off then. Good luck."

She got up to her feet, when she heard a sound from below she never had thought she would hear from the ranger.

"Thanks", he said. And sounded as if he meant it.


	31. Chapter 31 Judge and Jury

Bishop stood in the great court room of the castle, facing the throne of Lord Nasher. He stood very tall, his head held up proudly.

_Don't look guilty. Whatever you do, whatever you say, don't look guilty._

The demon's words. Well, he could manage that.

Before him, Lord Nasher entered the room, sitting down on his throne. Gradually, the murmur in the room quieted down. Bishop felt a knot of nervousness in his stomach, but forced himself to relax.

_Stay calm. Focussed. Don't look nervous._

Lord Nasher faced Bishop, raising his voice. "Since the most injured person can't be with us today, it will be me, representing the city of Neverwinter, who will act as prosecutor in this case. You know why you are here?"

Bishop smiled slightly.

_Ah, formalities._

"I know what I am accused of", he stated, clearly.

Nasher's eyes seemed to bore into his.

"So you deny betraying Neverwinter, deny deserting your service, deny murdering one of its most devoted servants?"

"I do. I'm not guilty of these charges." Bishop's voice was quiet, but steady.

_I'm so proud of myself. Such a good liar I am._

A murmur ran through the assembly. Bishop could feel the outrage coming off the audience. He let his gaze wander and found the eyes of the paladin, burning with fury and scorn. Bishop smiled and gave him a nod, seeing the paladin's face turn red with anger.

_This is even fun._

_It may be a good laugh, but you might pay for that with your life. Concentrate!_

"So you declare yourself innocent of the charges against you?", Nasher's voice boomed.

Bishop's eyes reverted to Nasher. "Yes", he said, still in the same quiet, steady voice.

"There are people accusing you of sabotaging the gates of Crossroad Keep, to let the enemy in. You claim this to be untrue?"

"Untrue. I did not do that."

"There are a dozen men who saw you return to the Keep the day of the assault. Yet you had deserted when the enemy arrived. And the gates had been sabotaged so they could not be closed, leaving the Keep open to the attackers. You honestly claim to be innocent of these charges?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bishop sneered inwardly at the title. Outwardly, he was calm, composed, serious.

"I have never sworn my allegiance to Neverwinter. I can't have deserted a service I have never accepted. My duty was to the Knight Captain, not to Neverwinter, and I followed her of my own free will. I left her service for my own reasons, which I think are not subject to this trial. But there were no contracts, no bindings, no obligations. I am no deserter."

Bishop heard a growling noise and found the eyes of the paladin again. The man looked ready to jump over the railing and attack him. Bishop gave him another smile and saw him gnashing his teeth. Gods, this really _was_ fun.

"So you also deny sabotaging the gates?"

"Yes, My Lord", Bishop repeated. "I admit slipping back into the Keep that day. But it was only to collect some things I had left behind. For my own reasons again, I did not want to meet any of my former companions. So I left without speaking to anyone. Only later did I hear about the attack. And the sabotage. It came as a shock to me. But I am not the one responsible for it."

There was a scream of outrage from the paladin. "You filthy, lying _scum_! It was you who did it! Everyone knows..."

"Silence!", Lord Nasher's voice boomed.

The paladin fell silent, but his jaw was still clenched, his hands gripping the handrail so tightly his knuckles turned white. Bishop smiled again at him, shaking his head slightly. So much for the famous paladin restraint.

"We have witnesses claiming you were the one sabotaging the gates."

A little uneasiness crept up in Bishop. This was the most vulnerable point of the plan. If that was true, it would all go downhill from here. He took care to stay relaxed, his face composed. He must not let his fear show.

_I don't _think_ anyone saw me do it, but still..._

"With all due respect, My Lord, I doubt that. Because I don't know how anyone could have seen me when I did not do it. Did those witnesses actually see me sabotaging the gates, or did they just see me in the Keep? Because I never denied having been there that day." He was very proud of the calm conviction in his voice.

_Might even convince myself if I go on like this._

"You bastard!" The paladin again. "Even if no one _saw_ you doing it, we all _know_ who is to blame!"

Bishop smiled again. "Ah, Casavir", he said mildly, with an undercurrent of sorrow in his voice. "I know you never liked me, but that alone does not make me guilty. It seems to me you're just jumping at conclusions because you _want_ to blame me."

The paladin's hands gripped the rail even harder. "It was you, I _know_ it! If not, who was it then? Tell me, traitor!"

Bishop shook his head again. "You _can't_ know that, because it wasn't me. As for who did it, it's not my job to find out. What about that red-headed sorceress? I heard she defected when you confronted Garius. Perhaps she was working for him all along? Bears thinking about, doesn't it? So maybe you should not call _me_ traitor."

"Sir Casavir, I have to ask you again to keep quiet in the courtroom, else I will have to request you leave it", Nasher said. "Unless you do not trust me to head a trial?"

Sir_ Casavir. Huh._

"No, My Lord. I am sorry", the paladin gritted out.

Bishop snickered, quickly concealing it behind a cough. He let his gaze wander a bit farther over the audience. He recognised Kana, staring at him with an expression of hate and fury that matched the paladin's.

_If he was not bedding the demon, those two would make a cute couple._

He nearly had to laugh at the thought. They would probably stand to attention even while getting at it, saluting each other. Overzealous idiots.

Nasher raised his voice again, drawing Bishop's attention back to more serious matters. "So you claim not to have sabotaged the gates. But there still is the accusation of having killed the Knight Captain with your own hands. And for that, we have witnesses who actually saw you do it. What do you say to that?"

"Not guilty", Bishop declared again, his voice clear and loud.

Bishop heard a sharp intake of breath and looked into the direction of the sound. He found Duncan's face, dark with anger, but also a certain sadness showing in his eyes.

_Ah, Duncan... you'd better have let me die that day. I wanted to... But you had to pull me back. That's what we both get for that._

"You declare yourself not guilty of the murder, despite half a dozen witnesses seeing you do it?"

Bishop reverted his gaze to Nasher, looking him squarely in the eye.

"Not guilty. I can't have murdered someone who is very much alive, as you are very well aware of, My Lord."

This time the murmur going to the audience was loud and prolonged. Nasher had to call for quiet three times before the din subsided. Bishop searched Kana's face in the crowd, seeing her gaping at him, mouth open. He grinned at her.

_Surprise, my dear._

"I last saw the Knight Captain about two weeks ago. She was very much alive then", he continued, repressing the feeling of loss, of longing, that threatened to rise in him as his words inevitably brought back images of the last time he saw her, lying on the ground, watching him leave.

_You've made your decision. It's over and done with._

But he could not shake the tightness in his chest, and the slight quiver in his voice as he talked.

"Do you really want to declare your ignorance that the Knight Captain is not dead, My Lord?", he asked, trying to sound as steady as possible.

There was an outcry from the paladin again. "Filthy liar! I held her in my arms, dead, killed by your hand! She was dead! Only the mercy of the gods brought her back!"

"_Sir Casavir!_ This is the last time I remind you that you will be silent in this courtroom!", Nasher called. Then, he turned back to Bishop. "He is right, though. What do you have to say to that?"

"My Lord, I admit I attacked her. It was for very personal reasons, and had nothing to do with her role as Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep, or as a servant of Neverwinter. It was a... mistake. A mistake I deeply regret, an act committed in a moment of fury. If I could, I would undo it."

_And that even was the truth. A first today._

"But can you accuse me of the murder of someone who is still alive? I did not think that technically possible."

"_Technically_ I can just let you hang without even a trial, young man, so don't get smart with me", Nasher said, coldly.

Bishop swallowed.

_M__aking him mad is a bad move._

"I apologise, My Lord", he said, as sincerely as possible. "I did not mean to get smart. I admit to attacking her. But I did not kill her, since she is not dead."

Nasher regarded him for some moments, his brows drawn together.

"You made your point on this. We'll just leave it at that for now. That leaves the last accusation, of sneaking into Crossroad Keep, assaulting one of my Greycloaks there, nearly killing him in the process. What do you have to say to that?"

"Not guilty", Bishop repeated.

"And how do you intend to justify that claim? We have more than a dozen witnesses for what you did."

"First, My Lord, I did not _sneak_ into Crossroad Keep. I just walked in through the main gate." He smirked at Kana who looked ready to murder someone. "The guards did not even stop me, question me. Seems like the new Captain is not really able to keep up the discipline." He heard Kana gasp in fury and suppressed a snicker.

"Second, I did not _assault_ the Greycloak. I was drunk, and got into a barroom brawl. Is that a hanging offence? I did not think so."

Was there something twitching in the corner of Nasher's mouth? No, he must have been mistaken, because his voice was cold and even as he spoke.

"I think I told you not to get smart with me. You better remember that it is your life at stake here. Behave accordingly."

"I'm sorry, My Lord", Bishop said again, nearly choking at the words, but managing to sound honest.

_I'm going to puke if__ this charade continues much longer._

Nasher sat back, resting his chin on his folded hands, regarding Bishop in silence for a couple of minutes. Bishop had to pull himself together not to squirm under the scrutiny. It was so quiet in the room, one would have heard a pin dropping to the floor.

At last, Nasher stood, resolution on his face.

"We have heard a lot of pretty words from you today", he said, addressing Bishop. "The problem is, I don't believe half of what you said. And while it is true that the Knight Captain is not dead, she died after you attacked her and was brought back only through the mercy of the gods. In my book, this still constitutes as murder. So even if we can't prove that you were the one who sabotaged the gates of Crossroad Keep, betraying it to the enemy, you are still guilty of the murder of one of my most trusted servants, one of the Neverwinter Nine. And for that, the sentence is death by the rope."

Again, a murmur ran through the audience. This time, it sounded satisfied. Bishop had to suppress a smile again. All was going as planned. His eyes sought Duncan's face in the crowd. The anger had dissipated, but the sorrow was left.

_You've always been too soft, old chap. Otherwise we would not be here today._

He reverted his eyes to Nasher, still standing in front of his throne, his hand held out to silence the audience, and gradually, they quieted.

_Here we go._

"I invoke my right of trial by combat!", Bishop called, loud and clear.

This time, the din was deafening.


	32. Chapter 32 Plans Revealed

Neeshka sat in the living room of the little house she shared with Casavir, anxiously chewing her nails.

_How long can some stupid trial take?_

She just hoped all went according to plan. If Bishop managed to claim his innocence halfway plausible, he would gain the right to call for trial by combat. Then he would stand a chance. If he won the challenge, he would walk free.

_And someone else will pay with his life for that._

If he lost, he would die anyway. But it seemed better to go down fighting for your life than dangling from a rope, dying slowly, painfully from strangulation.

It still did not seem right that someone else would have to die for the ranger's freedom. But Chantal had been so desperate, Neeshka could not stand seeing her like this. So she had helped. Even if she did not like the ranger, she could not bear Chantal suffering even more.

_If it had been Casavir, I would have done the same, to hell with the consequences._

Oh yes, Neeshka understood Chantal perfectly well, even if the plan did seem ruthless.

_The things we do for love._

Did Bishop love Chantal? Neeshka was not sure. But there had to be something. She had been asking around, and she heard some pretty interesting things. Including rumours that the Greycloak had been badmouthing Chantal before Bishop attacked. It was funny, in a way. Bishop, getting caught because he defended Chantal's honour? If that wasn't irony, Neeshka was a virgin.

But now she had to admit her conscience was acting up. Unfortunately, she still had one, and sometimes it even made its presence known.

_Casavir's bad influence. _

Stupid conscience really could make life uncomfortable. Right now, it tried to tell her that she had done something very wrong. Something that might cost an innocent life, just to set a murderer free. Something that Casavir would very much disapprove of.

_La, la, la. So not listening. Just shut up, will you?_

She had lied to Casavir. She had acted behind his back. She had betrayed his trust. And she might have caused the death of an innocent. Might have caused grief and suffering for his family, if Bishop killed someone tomorrow.

_How long __can that stupid trial take?_

The sound of the door opening made her whirl round. Casavir stormed into the room, his face dark, his teeth clenched, fury blazing in his eyes. Neeshka swallowed.

_Guess it worked, then._

"I don't _believe_ this", Casavir started to rage before she could utter a word. "That filthy, murderous, back-stabbing, lying, traitorous bastard _dared_ to invoke a trial by combat! A holy ritual of Tyr, demeaned and abused by that scum, only to avoid his well-deserved punishment! The sheer audacity of it makes me want to kill him with my bare hands!"

He growled and punched the wall with his fist. Neeshka flinched at the noise.

_He's not taking it well, is he?_

But she also felt a new fear rising in her.

_What if Casavir volunteers as Champion? He hates Bishop so much..._

She felt her blood run cold. How could she not have thought of that before? It was logical! Casavir hated Bishop with all his heart. He would want to see to it that the ranger got his comeuppance. Personally.

As if he read her thoughts, Casavir continued: "Of course, I went to Nevalle immediately, to tell him I would be honoured to act as Champion for Neverwinter, to see to it that justice would not be made a laughing matter. To make sure that justice would find that cursed man at last."

Neeshka looked up at Casavir, her eyes huge, her stomach one small icy ball of fear.

_What have I done?_

Casavir was pacing up and down the room, unsuspecting of the horror that was gripping his beloved. He growled again.

"And what did he tell me? That there already was a volunteer! Can you believe that? I went immediately after the trial, and someone already volunteered! Nevalle did not even want to tell me who that was, so I might convince him to let me take his place! He said it was confidential! Ha! Confidential!" He struck the wall again.

Neeshka closed her eyes for a moment, relief making her feel weak.

_Thank the gods for that._

"I can only hope that it is someone who can hold his own against that blasted ranger! As much as I hate him, I have to admit that he is a foe one should take seriously. A dangerous foe. Wonder whoever that is, if he knows what he is up against. I don't want to see that scum walk free, because they sent someone in who can't stand against him!"

As the relief subsided at bit, Neeshka's brain started working again.

_There already was a volunteer? Immediately after the trial?_

_Oh, my._

The realisation hit her like a slap to the face.

_She tricked me!_

_How can that be? I am the tricky one here!_

But she could not deny Chantal had beaten her at her own game.

_Hells, hells, hells!_

If Chantal faced Bishop in the arena tomorrow, what would happen? Would she be able to kill him? Well, she sure could stand against him in terms of her combat abilities – but would she be willing to kill the man she loved?

Somehow, Neeshka doubted that.

About the ranger she had less doubts.

The icy ball that had been her stomach formed again after having relaxed for a few short moments.

There would be an innocent dead tomorrow.

Chantal.

And the ranger would walk free.

_She's going to trade her life for his._

It made absolute sense. Chantal had said she could not bear it if Bishop died. So she would die in his place. And Neeshka had helped her achieving that.

_I think I'm going to faint._

She realised Casavir had knelt down beside her and was drawing her into his arms.

"Everything all right, my love?", he asked, concerned. "You look white as a sheet. I am sorry, I should have brought you these news more gently. I know this comes as a shock. But I was so furious. Forgive me." He placed a soft kiss on her lips.

Neeshka wound her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.

_If he ever finds out, he _will_ kill me._

"I'm fine", she said, sounding weak even in her own ears. "It's just so... unexpected."

Casavir snorted. "Unexpected? Yes, but I wonder why. I should have known he would find a way to save his hide. He always finds one. I only hope that whoever they send in tomorrow will strike him down. I will pray to Tyr for that, pray that he does not suffer one of his holy rituals be mocked like this, turned into a farce. I will pray the ranger finds his death tomorrow."

Neeshka closed her eyes, trying to suppress the shiver that went through her.

_I really doubt it will happen that way._

xxx

An hour later, Neeshka was hurrying through the docks, in the direction of the Sunken Flagon. She had to let some time pass before leaving the house after the news, lest she raised Casavir's suspicion.

So she had stayed for some time, talking to him about the unbelievable affront Bishop had committed, feigning disbelief and outrage, all the time hoping he would not see though the act.

As soon as possible, she had pretended to have some important errands to make, and left the house, nearly running down the streets. She had to talk to Chantal, try and talk her out of this.

_I can't let her do it!_

But what was she to do if Chantal was stubborn? Talk to Casavir? Admit to her role in all that? She shuddered.

_I can't._

But if she did not, Chantal would let herself be killed tomorrow. Neeshka could not allow that to happen. All the more since she knew she was to blame for it. At least partly.

_I can't believe I did not see through it right from the start!_

Maybe she was losing her edge, living contentedly, protected, sheltered and in luxury with Casavir. It made her complacent, dulled her usually sharp wit and keen senses. Her cunning. So Chantal had been able to deceive her.

She could not even be angry about it. Chantal loved Bishop. She would do anything to save his life. Even abuse the trust of her friends. Even throw away her own life. Neeshka could understand it, in a way.

She still had to try and stop her.

But how, how? If she did not listen to reason, and Neeshka did not really expect her to, what was she to do?

_I can't tell Casavir. I simply can't._

She came round the last bend, the Flagon looming before her.

_Duncan._

Her fear eased a bit. Yes, that was the solution. If Chantal was stubborn, she'd talk to Duncan. He would think of something. Chantal was his niece. Sort of. He loved her as if she really was kin.

_Plus, he won't blab to Casavir._

She pushed the door to the inn open, scanning the dim room behind it. The room she had spent so much time in when they had started with that whole crazy saving-the-world-thing. The room where they had sat together in the evenings, drinking, talking, laughing with their friends.

She sighed at the memories. She had to admit she still missed them, even the barrel-headed dwarf. He was not so bad once you got to know him. Did not miss the conceited druid as much, maybe. Uppity woman had always looked down on her, even if she was one head shorter than Neeshka. But she still had been a lot better than that snotty sorceress. That one Neeshka did not miss at all. On the contrary, she still remembered with satisfaction the moment her twin rapiers pierced the back of the bitch, silencing her just as she tried to fry Casavir standing before her with one of her spells.

She shook her head to clear it of the memories.

_More pressing matters at hand right now._

She went up to Duncan, standing behind the corner, smiling as he recognised her.

"And what can I do for an old friend?", he said.

"I'd like to speak to Chantal, please. Which is her room?", Neeshka said, barely concealing her anxiety.

Duncan stared at her, his eyes wide.

"But... she moved out this morning, saying she would stay with you and Casavir for a couple of days. Have you not seen her?"

Neeshka let herself sink down on one of the stools at the counter, her knees suddenly weak, the fear back to forming a ball in her stomach.

_Oh, my._


	33. Chapter 33 Quiet Contemplation

Chantal sat on the cold stone floor, her back to the wall, her gaze fixed on the statue of Tyr in front of her.

_It's just a statue, you know? Tyr isn't watching this. But I am._

Her heart threatened to break at the thought of the last time she had spent the night in this room. How very different things had been then.

_And who'd have thought I would do this twice in my life?_

How she wished the door would open again, to show his graceful figure. Just like last time. He had come to her, come with sarcasm and advice. And shortly before he left, a grudging offer to take her place.

To be her Champion.

How could she have missed what that meant? Sure, he had disguised the offer with scorn, made it seem like he just wanted another opportunity for payback to Luskan. How could she let herself be fooled by such a flimsy pretence? For a man like Bishop, to offer to take her place in a fight to the death, a fight against an opponent as formidable as Lorne, with a very high probability of dying – how could she not have seen the meaning of that?

Revenge on Luskan might be a strong motive for Bishop – but he'd never risk his life for it. He'd strike only when the odds were in his favour. And a one on one fight with Lorne... the odds had not been very favourable.

But still, he'd offered. Scowling, his eyes not meeting hers. Letting her only see his angry mask.

And she had taken it at face value.

She had not taken him up on his offer. She could not do that. The only life she would risk was her own.

But she remembered thinking about it for a moment, imagining Bishop facing Lorne. Imagining him falling under the relentless blows of that cruel falchion. Remembered finding that image too painful. Remembered telling herself that she just could not see one of her companions die in her place.

A tear rolled down her cheek while she contemplated the many mistakes they had made in the past. The many opportunities they had missed.

_Gods, we've been so stupid. So blind._

And now here they were. Tomorrow, they would face each other in the arena. Right now, he was in the room next to hers. Separated only by the wall in her back. It was almost too much to bear.

All she wanted to do was run into the next room, throw herself at him. Beg him to come back. Crawl, if that was what it took. Hells, she really would not mind crawling at all.

_Who'd have thought I would ever sink so low?_

But she just did not care. A life without him just held no allure anymore. What was her pride compared to the vast emptiness of her life stretching ahead of her? So if it took crawling, she was willing to crawl.

She sighed. If only it were so simple. Of course she could just barge into the room next door. Maybe she could even convince him to stop running from her. From himself. But then, he would hang in the morning. And she still would have lost him.

So she stayed, painfully aware of how close he was. So close, but out of reach nonetheless. It was torture. It was...

A loud voice outside the room caught her attention.

"Damn you, man, get out of my way! That is my niece in there, and I will talk to her! You will not hold me back!"

"Sir, the Champion of Neverwinter has requested specifically that her contemplation not be disturbed tonight. I'm afraid I can't let you pass." The quiet, soothing voice of Hlam was a stark contrast to Duncan's aggressive organ.

Chantal smiled sadly. Good old Duncan. So Neeshka had put two and two together and had alerted him to what was happening. Chantal just hoped the tiefling would refrain from telling Casavir as well.

First, she really did not want to sow any conflicts between those two. They were so happy together, Chantal would hate to be the source of any twist. She did feel guilty for the way she had led Neeshka around by the nose, she really did. She would not have done it if she had seen any other way.

But how could she have done it without Neeshka's help? She could hardly have talked to Bishop himself. If he had known she was here, he would have sniffed a rat immediately. And that would have spoiled everything. So she had to use Neeshka.

_That's __exactly what you did. You _used_ your friend._

And she was ashamed of herself. But she would do it again in a heartbeat.

Second, Casavir would be so much harder to handle than Duncan, if he knew.

As if on cue, Duncan's loud voice broke into her thoughts. "Champion of Neverwinter, my ass! Getting herself killed is what she does! I'll drag her out of here! You can find someone else to fight that viper. Because there's no way in all hells I will let my niece face him tomorrow!"

"Sir, your niece volunteered for that role. I will have to ask you to leave..."

Hlam's voice was cut off. Chantal heard a short commotion, then the door to her room opened and Duncan stormed in, looking like thunder. Chantal lifted her face and smiled up at him.

"Hello, Uncle", she said, tenderly.

Duncan stopped before her, hands on his hips, his hazel eyes glaring daggers at her.

"Don't you _Hello, Uncle_ me, young lady! That's a fine trick you played me, but enough is enough! You will get up immediately and come back to the Flagon with me, you hear?"

Chantal smiled at him again, affectionately. "I really do love you, you know?", she said.

He pointed at her, his finger shaking in front of her eyes. "Don't try to sweet talk me, girl! You get up already, I'm not leaving here without you!"

"Well, if that is so, better sit down – it's going to be a long night", she said, mildly.

"Enough of this banter! You're coming back with me now!"

She looked at him, steadily. "No", she just said.

He stared down at her for a moment, and she could see the anger in his face dissipating, leaving only bewilderment and fear behind. He sunk down the wall next to her, looking deflated.

"Daeghun is going to kill me for this", he said, helplessly.

Chantal took his hand and squeezed it. "Father knows very well that I have my own will. He will not hold you responsible."

"That's what _you_ think", Duncan said bitterly. "You won't believe the things I mysteriously found myself being responsible for over the years."

She chuckled slightly. That sure sounded like Daeghun.

Duncan turned to face her. "At least, let _me_ fight him tomorrow", he pleaded.

Chantal nearly laughed. "Duncan, I know you have a colourful past, and I'm sure you've seen your share of fights in your time. But tell me, when was the last time you picked up a sword? Moved in armour? You're out of training. Bishop would wipe the floor with you. You know that."

For a moment there was a challenging spark in his eyes, but then he sighed and nodded. "He would. I know. But at least it would not be _your_ life at stake. And if someone gets killed in the process, it seems only fair that it be me. Because I saved his life so long ago. If I just had let him die, as he so fully deserved, none of all that would have happened. And if that was not enough, I have been so stupid as to force him on you, even though I knew him for what he was. I am to blame for everything he ever did to you. So it's me who deserves to die by his hand, not you. Please, let me go in your stead."

She gave him a tender peck on the cheek, resting her head at his shoulder for a moment. "You and Daeghun really are all the family I could ever wish for", she said warmly. "I thank you for your offer. But you know I can't let you do this. You would just die, and I could not bear that. Besides, this is something I have to do. It's personal."

"Why, lass?", he asked, still sounding helpless. "I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, smiling. "Because I have to."

She saw his eyes widen, something like horror showing in them. "You love him", he whispered.

She nodded. "Yes."

"But... but why? Don't you know he's a killer? Don't you know what he's done?"

She stroked his cheek, soothingly. "I know very well that he is a killer. I experienced that first hand, remember? And I know what he did. Well, some of it, but enough. I know what he is."

"But then... how can you love him?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I just do. And I can't let him die. I simply can't."

"Lass, if you go out tomorrow, hoping for his tender side to get the better of him, you'll die, you know that? That man doesn't even _have_ a tender side! I've known him far, far longer than you. Once I thought there might be hope for him, so I saved his life. But that was a mistake, I know that now. There's nothing good in him, believe me! He's merciless, cold blooded, ruthless. He will not hesitate to kill you!"

She smiled sadly. "Maybe you're right, he won't hesitate. But I believe you are wrong about him – he's not as cold as you think. He's just buried that part of him deep, deep down. But it's still there."

She saw the deep sorrow in his eyes as he shook his head. "I think you're wrong about that. What did he do, trick you with sweet words? You can't believe anything he says, you know? Never known anyone who lied that easily, not even your tiefling friend."

Chantal just had to laugh. "Trick me with sweet words? Are you serious? This is _Bishop_ we're talking about, remember? Sweet words, my ass! He could not find any if his life depended on it! The closest he gets to sweet talk is being mildly annoying."

Duncan was silent for some moments. Then he asked, hesitatingly: "Is there anything I can say or do to make you see reason?"

She squeezed his hand again. "No", she said, softly. "I have made up my mind. I have to do this. There's nothing you can do."

She saw tears shimmering in his eyes, and he drew her into his arms, holding her tight. "Oh lass", he whispered.

She hugged him back, enjoying the comfort of his embrace for some moments. Then she drew back and smiled at him.

"You'll have to go now", she said. "May the gods be with you, Duncan. And tell Daeghun I love him. That'll make him squirm."

He got up, wiping away the tears. "You can tell him yourself afterwards", he said gruffly, trying not to sound desperate. "I don't want to be at the receiving end of one of his cold stares."

She got up as well and gave him another kiss on the cheek, then shoved him in the direction of the door. He hugged her once more, fiercely, then turned and left the room without looking back.

xxx

_It's just a statue, you know. Tyr isn't watching this. But I am._

That's what he had said to her that night, when he had come to her while she was going through that farce of a vigil.

What ever had driven him to do it? Go there and offer to take her place?

_She had me on a leash even then._

He'd never have admitted it, not to others, not to himself. But even then, he did not want her to die. So he told himself that he'd love to have a go at Lorne. Because Lorne _bothered_ him. He snorted.

_Gods, I'm such a good liar, I even fool myself._

And now, here he was, staring at some piece of stone that was supposed to represent the high and mighty Tyr.

_And, __are you watching, mate? Probably laughing your ass off at my expense, if you are._

Bishop smiled bitterly. Not that he could not understand. He _was_ a joke, he knew that perfectly well. All that talk about only those deserving to live who could defend themselves, and then he let himself be knocked out by a simple barkeeper with a cudgel. After he had rushed in to defend the ice maiden's honour, drunk as a pig. In a place where he damn well knew better than to show his face.

So he absolutely deserved what was coming.

That did not mean he would not fight for his life tomorrow. He would grab this chance at freedom. And then he would leave and go far away.

He sighed, shifting position a bit, making the chains they still held him in clank with the motion. Suddenly, he stopped, listening intently.

He had heard a loud, male voice in the corridor. Over the clanking he could not be sure, but he thought it sounded like Duncan.

_Oh__, nonsense! What would Duncan do here?_

_Come and gloat._

Well, maybe. But judging from his face this afternoon, Duncan was not entirely happy to see him die. And the man was an idiot, but there was no malice in him. He would not gloat at someone about to die.

_Besides, I might still live._

_Maybe he came to volunteer as Champion._

The thought made Bishop snicker. That would be a sight to behold. But he sincerely doubted that it would be so easy.

_Wonder who__m they'll send in?_

Well, the paladin was probably more than willing to get his chance to kill him.

_Fine by me._

He'd been aching to give the self-righteous fool a good thrashing anyway. He was not sure if he could defeat him in close combat, but he was very sure he would be able to make him bleed profoundly.

_Might even be worth dying for, getting the chance to play bash-the-paladin._

He sighed again, leaning his head back at the wall, closing his eyes. His mind wandered back again to the night of her vigil. It really had been hard to find a moment to talk to her alone, with all the coming and going.

_Somehow I doubt someone will show and offer to take my place._

He snorted. Not likely. But there had been a queue of people offering for her...

_Seems like she's better at making friends than you._

He barked out a short laugh at the thought. If that wasn't the honest truth. Well, he'd never been interested in making friends. It all ran down to his old maxim. Any attachment made you weak. In that respect, friends were no better than lovers.

Besides, he did not need friends. He got by very well on his own.

But she... that had been another matter entirely. People just seemed to flock around her, full of admiration, eager to follow, drawn to her light, her strength. She did not even seem aware that she did it, but you just had to look at that ragtag band running around with her. The dwarf, two elves, the half-demon, the paladin, the gnome, the sorceress, the farm girl, and later even the Githzerai and the warlock. Not to mention himself. A crowd that would normally be at each other's throat in seconds, working together. Because of her. Just her presence did that.

_I miss her._

He clamped down at the thought, trying to shove the feeling of loneliness away. He did not need her. He did not need anyone.

But the thought lacked conviction.

He imagined her scent, her laughter, her touch. Remembered holding her in his arms, remembered how he had felt, holding her close.

Warm. Contented. Safe. Like he had found his haven at last. _Happy_. And sad at the same time, knowing it could not last.

_Maybe I should have stayed.__ Should have taken the chance._

_No! Never again, remember?_

He conjured up the other images, the images of Sarah's body, broken, bloody, defiled. Lifeless, dead. Ripped from him, ripped from life, because someone wanted to cause him pain. Because of him.

The thought helped steeling himself against the longing in his heart.

Never again. Never again would he offer anyone the chance to do that to him.

Tomorrow, he would go out there and kill whomever they sent in against him. He did not care who it was. He would kill, or go down trying.

And if he survived, he was out of here. He would leave this sorry piece of the world behind. This piece of the world, and her.

Forever.


	34. Chapter 34 Confrontation

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Bishop entered through the opening to the arena, a wall of fire rising behind him, to keep him from leaving before the fight was over. He snorted.

_To add to the dramatics, more likely._

He could hear boos, and whistles. He grinned wryly.

_Seems like I'm not really popular here._

He fingered his twin scimitars lovingly. It felt good to have them back at his side. To be out in the open air, able to breathe again. The damp, dark cells, the chains, it had been hard to take. He doubted anyone could be comfortable like that, but for him, it had been hell. He was used to run free through the woods, sleep under an open sky. He did not like being indoors at the best of times. But the last weeks – that had been bad.

But now, back outside, feeling the sun on his face again, breathing fresh air – he could feel his spirits lifting.

He smiled grimly. He suddenly felt much more optimistic. He would win this fight. And he would be free to walk under the sky again. No one would keep him from that. It was worth fighting for.

_If you're not willing to __kill for it, how important can it be?_

So true. He was willing to fight. He was even willing to die for his freedom.

Suddenly, the sound of the crowd changed, turning form catcalls to cheers.

_Seems like my opponent has arrived._

Bishop turned to face the opposite gate.

_Let him come. I'm ready._

Grimly, his eyes narrowed to slits, he watched a tall figure step through the shadow of the portal.

_Are you ready to die, fool?_

Then he saw the morning sun gleam on white hair, saw the familiar, graceful movements, saw the cool, blue eyes meet his defiantly.

He felt the colour drain from his face and his knees go weak. His grip on his swords loosened and he nearly let the weapons fall to the ground. What was this? Some sick kind of joke? What was _she_ doing here?

_If you allow yourself to develop a __weak spot, someone will find a way to exploit it._

So they thought they had found a way to exploit that vulnerable spot of his, did they? Thought that, if they sent _her_ in, he would not fight for his life, would not kill her for his freedom, so that they would see him dead in the end. He wondered whose idea it had been. Hers? No one else knew about his weakness for her.

He felt like throwing his head back and howling in anger like a wolf. Was this never going to end? Would he be forced to repeat this torment over and over again? Someone surely had a very twisted sense of humour, and whoever that was did have a lot of fun on Bishop's expense. Would he never be able to be _rid_ of her?

Well, if they thought he would just cave, he would prove them wrong. He'd end this now. He had tried to avoid it, this time, but if they forced him to do it, he would. He always did what needed to be done.

_Let's get this over with._

His resolution hardened, he gripped his scimitars firmly again, and walked right up to her.

She awaited him, calm and silent, not saying a word.

"What are you doing here?", he snarled.

She looked at him, still very calm, and replied evenly: "I'm the one you betrayed. I am the one you tried to murder. So if anyone should face you to receive judgement, it's me."

"Whose idea was this?", he spat. "I don't like to be made a fool of!"

She just shrugged. "Are you going to fight me or not? There's a god's judgement awaiting.", she answered.

Bishop's eyes narrowed in anger. "You can bet your head I will fight you. If you thought I would just quit, because of that little tryst in the woods, you were sorely mistaken!"

She looked at him, something like sadness in her eyes. "So be it."

Bishop clenched his teeth. Very well. She had brought this down on herself, hadn't she?

Chantal saw Bishop's mouth compress into a tight line. Without further warning, he crouched into a fighting stance, and one of the scimitars moved towards her in a forceful arc, the other one ready to parry any blow she might deal. She could see only grim determination on his face.

She closed her eyes and lowered her own sword, awaiting the pain.

_So, this is his choice?_

Something connected with her upper arm, hard, and made her stumble a step to the side. She opened her eyes and looked into Bishop's face. His eyes were blazing with fury, his jaw clenched. He had turned the blade in the last moment and lowered it a bit, so that only the broad side hit her, harmlessly.

"Defend yourself, godsdamnit!", he gritted.

She just shook her head and dropped her sword.

"No", she said calmly, meeting his blazing eyes with her own cool stare. "Just kill me, and you'll be free. Of Neverwinter, of me. Isn't that what you wanted, all along?"

He spat out a curse. "What game is this? Don't think I won't do it", he growled.

"Well, then, what are you waiting for?"

He gnashed his teeth, his hands clenching around the handle of his scimitars. He lifted the weapon, his furious gaze never leaving hers.

Chantal stood very still, looking firmly into his eyes, head held high, awaiting the blow.

Bishop hesitated for an endless moment, his sword drawn back, ready to strike. Then, after a second stretched into an eternity while they stared at each other, the fire slowly died in his eyes, to be replaced by dejection. He exhaled slowly, and his hands let go, his weapons tumbling into the sand.

"I can't do it", he said helplessly, arms falling to his side, staring at her, utter lack of comprehension in his eyes. "What have you _done_ to me? I can't do it, even if it costs me my life."

She had to close her eyes for a moment, as relief flooded through her, so strong it made her knees tremble. She had been right.

_Thank you, gods._

She opened her eyes again, her gaze searching his face.

A humourless smile twisted his mouth and he dropped to his knees, his head bent. "Seems like it's your turn this time to kill _me_", he said caustically. "Go on, then. End my life. It's not like it's worth much anyway."

She knelt down as well, in front of him. "Beg to differ", she answered softly, her voice still shaking slightly with relief, and reached out, lightly touching his short hair.

He lifted his head, searching for her eyes, a painful question showing in his.

She smiled and stroked his cheek. "Gods, Bishop, you can be so _thick_ sometimes", she said, tenderly.

Realisation dawned on his face.

"You… you planned this!", he said, incredulously.

She smiled at him. "Yes."

Some of the old anger flickered in his eyes. "You idiot! I might have killed you! I nearly did!"

She shrugged. "Well, I reckoned, if you really went through with it, I would not want to go on anyway."

He drew back, staring at her. "You… what do you…"

She silenced him with a finger on his lips. "_Thick_", she whispered.

Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned forward a bit and placed a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes closed, his arms going around her, drawing her close, burying his face in her neck. He gave a trembling sigh, and she could feel him shiver.

"I nearly killed you", he repeated, his voice unsteady.

"But you did not", she whispered, closing her eyes and enjoying the feel of his arms around her, his closeness. It was as if a wound in herself that had been hurting constantly was slowly closing with his touch. It felt so good. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent, the scent she loved so much, hugging him even closer, forgetting everything around her, everything but the feel of having him near and the gradually subsiding pain in her heart.

Until Nasher's booming voice brought her back to the present. "I think we all have seen a judgement of Tyr today", he said, his voice resonating through the arena. Chantal flinched and opened her eyes, only now realising how quiet it had been.

Bishop raised his head and looked at her. She had never seen so much insecurity in his eyes, hope battling with fear.

"What about... the paladin?", he asked, hesitatingly.

She sighed and shook her head. "You know he's with Neeshka. He loves her. I haven't been with him since... since that night you came to me in the glade. I couldn't. Not... not with what I felt for you."

He stared at her, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "I have been very stupid, haven't I?" he said, softly.

Chantal's lips twitched a bit. "Incredibly stupid", she said.

He closed his eyes for a moment, a shiver going through him. "I'm afraid", he whispered.

"Shhh", she said, stroking his cheek. "I know. Don't be. We'll make it work."

Pain flitted across his face. "I've heard that before", he said, his voice strangled. "Right before I lost her. They killed her, just because they knew it would destroy me."

_One day, __I'll make him tell me._

"But it did not destroy you", she replied, softly.

"Yes, it did", he answered, looking into her eyes. "I was dead inside. Empty. You know that. Until... you made me feel again." He swallowed. "I can't go through that again, all that pain. I just can't. I'd rather stay dead."

"Don't worry about me", she murmured, softly touching his face. "I can look after myself. I'm not that easy to kill. _You_ should know that, of all persons. Whoever "they" are, I'm sure I could kick their asses."

He just stared at her.

She cast down her eyes, looking up at him through her lashes. "I could kick _your_ ass", she murmured, challengingly.

Involuntarily, he gave a little laugh. "Only if you saw me coming", he said.

She smiled at him, glad to see the pain on his face fade a bit.

He finally got up, holding his hand out. She took it, and he pulled her into his arms, hugging her close for a moment. Then they turned to face Lord Nasher.

Nasher's face was impassive, as always, but Chantal thought she could see laughter in his eyes, and blushed slightly.

"Well, I think there is no blood to be shed in this arena today", he spoke. "Tyr has rendered his judgement." His eyes went to Bishop, all humour leaving them. "You will walk free. But if you are ever caught harming any of my people again, I _will_ see you hang. Remember this."

Chantal's eyes left Nasher to wander over the people next to him until she found the faces she was looking for.

She saw Casavir staring at her with an expression of open horror on his face.

_I'm so sorry, old friend. I had to do it. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me._

Neeshka stood next to Casavir, clinging to his arm, her face pale, but Chantal could see her nod nearly imperceptibly, and the corner of her mouth lifted in the barest of smiles.

_You're the best of friends...__ I'm sorry for what I did. I'll try to make it up to you, I promise._

And behind the paladin and the tiefling she could see Duncan, fear and relief battling openly on his face. She looked at him, and he shook his head slowly, full of sorrow.

Chantal felt a tug on her arm and noticed they had been dismissed, and Bishop had turned away, drawing her with him. She followed him to collect their weapons from the sand, turning back to throw one last glance at her friends before they left the arena.

Outside, Bishop faced her, drawing her near, burying his face in her hair. She could feel a tremor going through him.

"I'm still afraid", he whispered. "I don't know if I can do this. I might still run."

"I know", she said, shaking the regret she felt because of the sorrow she had caused her friends. She would deal with that later.

She drew back a little so she could gaze into Bishop's eyes. "But I also know you will come back. Won't you?"

His eyes went soft. He lifted a hand, tracing her lips with his finger.

"Witch woman", he murmured. "Yes, I guess I would be back. That is an evil spell you have laid on me."

Chantal smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. "Do you want me to remove it?", she whispered, looking deep into his eyes.

"Don't you dare", he said, covering her mouth with his in a passionate kiss.

* * *

_So, this is it. The final chapter of a rather long story. I hope you enjoyed reading - but if you beared with me that long, I guess it was no total drag ;)_

_I thought I'd better say a few words to the ending. In the game, you don't have to kill your opponent to win the Trial by Combat. I know that not all players get the option to let Lorne live, it probably depends on your alignment, but I was able to choose, and I let him live and still came out the winner._

_So, because Chantal dropped her weapon, Bishop is officially the winner, but he does not have to kill Chantal to walk free. And that was exactly what she was hoping for. I have thought a long time about what Bishop would do in this situation, and I was severely tempted to have him kill her nonetheless. But in the end I thought that even he would have learned from what he went through during the last year._

_Bishop and happy endings are kind of hard to mix on the other hand, so I settled for a silver lining on the horizon, instead of a happily-ever-after. It may not be to everyone's tastes, but to me, it was the most likely end. Whether they manage to find some happiness together I'll leave to your imagination :)_

_So thanks to everyone who kept reading to the end, and I sincerly hope it did not disappoint._


End file.
